


A Dark Castle Rises

by AderynBennett88



Series: In the Absence of Light [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Betrayal, Destiny, Emotional, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Attraction, Forbidden Love, Frustration, Gen, Growth, Humour, Language of Flowers, Magic, Misunderstandings, Multiple Pov, Non-Canon Relationship, Opposing Sides, Original Character(s), Prophetic Dreams, Romance, Scenes of Violence and Torture, Sequel, Sequel to A Dark Stranger Comes, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Taboo, Taboo Love, Talking Link (Legend of Zelda), Tenderness, Triforce, battles, faith - Freeform, hero's spirit, non-canon, original pairing - Freeform, righting wrongs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AderynBennett88/pseuds/AderynBennett88
Summary: Four hundred years have passed since a dark force devastated Hyrule. For centuries, it seemed, the people fled a terrible power that destroyed all in its path, until the sorceress retreated to her dark castle, and the people began to cautiously rebuild. But the threat is still there, crouching on Hyrule's borders while swathes of monsters roam the land, and the dreadful Myyr raid villages and towns with abandon. No matter how many battles Hyrule wages against the sorceress, none have succeeded in defeating her.Princess Zelda faces a dilemma. How can she stop a seemingly untouchable foe, one that even her ancestors could not slay? It is all she can do to keep her people safe, and it seems that nothing will stop this tide of evil sweeping her lands. But one day, a talented young swordsman joins the ranks of her army, and a glimmer of hope flickers to life.Little does Zelda know that the bond between her Chosen Hero and greatest enemy runs deeper than she could ever imagine.
Relationships: Link & Zelda (platonic), Link/OC, Zelda & Hyrule (Legend of Zelda), Zelda & Impa
Series: In the Absence of Light [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987870
Comments: 39
Kudos: 64





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morvith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morvith/gifts), [bocrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bocrumbs/gifts).



> Thank you for taking the time to view this! I appreciate all your support. For the best experience, please read A Dark Stranger Comes first if you haven't already.  
> Much love to you all!  
> ~Aderyn~

__

**Prologue**

In the cool light of dawn, a dove awoke from slumber with a soft, purring coo. She untucked her head from her wing and fluffed her snowy feathers. The morning was bright, and the early spring meant that food was no longer scarce. It would soon be time to find a mate.

The dove stretched her wings, hopped onto the edge of her carefully built nest, and took off.

She soared out from the tower in which she had made her home, over the red tiled roofs and grey cobbles of the town, so often noisy with the bustling and voices of people. She flew past the low stone wall that separated the town from the fields around it, flapping gracefully over paddocks and fields of newly planted corn. No food would be found there, she had long since picked what she could from the freshly tilled earth.

She went on, seeking the updrafts invisible to all but her winged kind, floating on the streams of warmth, filling her wings, feeling the sun shining upon her from above, relishing the simple freedom that comes with flight. If doves could smile, she would have.

On and on she flew, passing more towns and villages, spotting people travelling the roads below, alone or in groups, sometimes astride horses, sometimes walking or riding in carts, all as small as ants. She passed a river and flew down, dipping her beak into the cool freshness. Up she went again, as the land stretched on forever.

The grass began to bare as she flew. It became patchy, the ground growing rocky and barren. The earth cracked and churned, and was all at once flooded with a sea of purple and white tents. An encampment, an army, spreading for over a mile before a great, dark castle. No food would be found here. She must away.

With a squawk and a puff of feathers, the dove was struck in the breast by an arrow, and she plummeted to earth.

An eager young soldier hurried over and scooped her up, her feathers soft, her head hanging, her eyes glassy. Grinning, he hurried through the camp to the grandest tent of them all. The flap was open, a group of men huddled around a table. The soldier rapped on one of the posts and ducked inside.

“Got another one, your Grace,” he said cheerfully, holding the dove aloft.

The King of Hyrule raised his eyes from the table. They were deep and full of power.

“Another what?” he asked.

The soldier waved the bird. “Messenger,” he said. “Relaying our movements. Spying on us, maybe.”

The King did not move. He blinked once, slowly.

“That is a dove,” he said. “And I see no message attached to her leg.”

The soldier’s grin faded. He looked down at the dove in his hands, her blood staining his gloves.

“Begone,” the King said. As the soldier stuttered his apologies and hurried away, he turned back to the men.

“This is the last thing we need,” he murmured. “It is an ill omen, the death of a dove.”

King Daphnes rested his great hands on the table, his brow furrowed. The lines on his head deepened above greying brows as he took in the battle plan before him. Small groups of figurines representing his army were grouped in neat formations, and a slab of obsidian in a barren sea of grey slate represented the dark castle they faced.

His general stood beside him, pointing to the figurines and moving them as he spoke. His words seemed oddly muffled as Daphnes ran a hand through his neat beard, as though he were hearing them from underwater. The general’s gestures were animated, excitable. The others around the table were more sombre, though their eyes followed the movements at the table unfalteringly. Occasionally, a quiet question would be uttered and answered. The murmurs about the table sounded like a distant hive of bees. The king stirred, restless. After a time, he straightened.

“Gentlemen,” he said. As always, his voice was soft, but it rang with the authority of a true monarch of Hyrule. His council stopped their whispering, and fixed their whole attention upon him.

“For centuries, the dark castle and the Shadow Sorceress within have plagued us,” he said. “And today, we shall end her reign of terror. No more will she sow nightmares into the minds of our sleeping children. No more will her Myyr torment us with their raids. Our women will be safe from their vile assaults, and travellers will once again be safe on our roads.”

A soft murmur of assent trickled through the small gathering. Each man before Daphnes was of noble standing, too reserved for cheers. But the king knew this, and smiled at their belief in him and their forces.

“This is the largest army we have ever mustered, and the men out there are brave,” he continued. “They have been trained well. I think of how long we have prepared for this, and know that each of those twenty long, hard years will not be wasted. Each of our uncountable, sleepless nights shall be rewarded, all of our blood, sweat, and tears shall salt the earth upon which she stands. The thousands of lives lost across the centuries will be compensated. We know her tricks, we know her power. This time, we shall strike her down!”

This time, the murmurs were more vigorous. One or two nodded their heads.

“But we are not foolish,” Daphnes continued. “Should the Black Witch leave her lair, she will bring destruction upon us all.” Looks passed between the council members. The king moved to another table, where a spherical object was concealed by a cloth.

“Aldrich has been working hard,” he said. “I wanted to wait until today to show you all the secret that will aid us in battle.”

The council gathered around the table. Aldrich, a neat scholar nearing the end of his second decade, allowed himself a small smile.

“He has been breeding fairies,” the king said. “And, through much trial and error, has bred this,” he removed the cloth with a flourish.

Underneath was a sphere made of iridescent, solid glass. Within, a white smoke seemed to swirl. Daphnes whispered to the orb, and the smoke parted. Inside, a picture formed.

It was a scene from the army encamped outside. As clear as spring water, the king and council saw the men milling around, sharpening their swords, eating, and conversing together.

“A scrying fairy,” the king said. “It is the size of a finger, almost undetectable. We have but a few, and only this one for our battle today. But one is all we need. With it, we will be able to see what the sorceress is doing. We will look through this orb, and relay her movements to our troops. We are sure to win this time, and the Fall of Hyrule shall at last be avenged!”

And now, the council let out soft cheers. Daphnes allowed his smile to show his white, even teeth. Inside, the tight coil of anxiety loosened. They had never before been able to get close enough to the castle to see the Shadow Sorceress, and her battle tactics were so random, in wars past it was impossible to guess what she would do next. The king shuddered. He had been but a boy when the last battle was fought, but he remembered the soldiers who returned.

He remembered their injuries. Bruises and broken bones and burns. Missing limbs, chunks of flesh torn away. Bites from unknown animals that didn’t heal, stings from mysterious insects that swelled and festered. But mostly he remembered their eyes. Wide, staring, and hollow. They were the unlucky ones.

Daphnes reflected then on the countless, heroic lives that had been lost over the years. The fortunate ones who didn’t have to relive the nightmares of their friends dying around them every night, seeing their comrades drop from a spear to the heart, a sword strike from a Myyr, or seemingly nothing at all.

All for nothing as the Myyr bred and grew stronger under the sorceress’s wicked protection. But today… today that would all end.

“Papa?” came a small voice.

The king blinked and turned. Standing at the entrance to the tent was a beautiful, five-year-old girl, with hair like spun sunlight. A simple gold tiara held her hair back above her pointed ears, and her eyes were big and blue, as blue as a summer sky.

“Zelda,” Daphnes said. “My daughter. You know you are not supposed to be in my war tent. Where is Impa?”

The little princess smiled, innocently. “Playing hide and seek.”

The king tutted. “Return to her at once. You are too young and pure for such things as this.” He turned to one of his servants. “Escort the princess, and tell Impa to return her to the palace. Why I ever thought she would be safer here with me…” he shook his head as the servant lifted Zelda into his arms. Daphnes strode to her and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, before the servant took her from the tent. The king returned, and lowered his head to the orb.

He spoke to it again, and the picture within changed as the scrying fairy began to fly. Together, the council watched as it flew over their army, over the great plain, and up to the dark castle. Inside the orb, it reared up like some great beast, the dark stone stretching an immense expanse. Daphnes twitched his lip towards a curl. It was a great, sprawling mass of black stone, spidering across the cliffs it sat against, towers and turrets jutting randomly from the body like an insect.

He was once more struck by the sheer size of the castle, almost as awed as he had been in his youth. It seemed it could house all his court, the people of the town and more besides, a twisting, warped, wretched curse of black.

The council was silent as the fairy flitted through the enormous arch, over the drawbridge, and into the courtyard beyond.

Inside, hundreds and hundreds of Myyr waited, armoured and armed. Their hellish purple skin was visible beneath their steel armour, and under their helmets, their eyes glowed a feral red. They stood in straight lines, still as statues. The king shook his head. The savage beasts were only capable of such discipline because of the sorceress’s control over them.

Daphnes noted the banners that flew on pikes and poles, inscribed on their armour. It was a motley mess of different colours and symbols, none identical. He caught sight of a snake swallowing a sword, of two crossed and bloody axes, of a shadowcat speared and yowling before the fairy’s flight spared him the sight. He glowered. There was yet more proof that their enemy was nothing more than a rag-tag bunch of barbarians, with no understanding of true unity.

The fairy flew on, into the castle itself. Inside, the stone was as black as without, and richly carpeted in red and gold. The king grimaced. Such splendour gained only from the suffering of his people. As the fairy flew, it swung its head this way and that, creating a disorienting picture for the council. The king glanced at Aldrich, who was scribbling notes as he watched.

Though the orb, a faint, mournful tune became apparent. The fairy turned its head again.

“Follow the music,” Daphnes instructed. The fairy obeyed.

The music grew until the fairy approached an enormous pair of arched, double doors. One was ajar, and the fairy went inside, revealing to the council a gigantic throne room, one to rival that of Hyrule Palace, though the stone was black, not white, and the carpets and drapes were red, not purple. There were no banners, no adornments with any kind of symbol. Tall, thick columns of black stone held up the high, arched ceiling, torches and braziers flickering along the walls.

At the end of the chamber, a raised dais sat, the only thing upon it a great, black throne. It was high-backed and severe, with twisted, spiked things coming off the back and sides of it. Before the steps that lead up to the throne was a grand piano, and it was from this that the music came. Seated there, white fingers dancing over the keys, was the Black Witch of the Dark Castle.

The king drew his breath. Though no mortal man had laid eyes on her in centuries, in his heart he knew it was her. He leaned forward, hungry to see the face of his enemy.

Her hair was long and black, as black as the dress she wore. So black that it seemed to leech the very light from around her. The king shuddered. He spoke softly, urging the scrying fairy forwards. The picture stilled, as though the fairy was hesitating. But then the image of the sorceress began to grow, as the fairy edged closer.

The sorceress was absorbed in her music, a haunting melody, foreign, yet strangely familiar. Her head was bowed, her hair covering her profile. Her hands were elegant and slender, white as bone and tipped with nails painted a blood red. The hem of her dress moved as she tapped her feet on the pedals of the piano, but it didn’t seem to account for all the movement. The dress seemed to blur and smudge, as though it was made of thick, corporeal smoke.

Daphnes whispered to the orb again, eyes fixed on the crystal before him. The fairy was closer now, creeping steadily closer still.

The melody jarred as the sorceress slammed her hands down, and her shoulders stiffened. Her head began to turn. Without a word from the king, the fairy turned and flew so fast the picture within the orb became a blur. The king cursed. The fairy hid itself behind a pillar. Through the orb, faint sounds of its panicked panting came. After a moment, it moved, risking a look around the pillar.

The sorceress was gone.

The fairy cast its gaze around the throne room, looking this way and that. The sorceress was nowhere to be seen. The king cursed again.

“Return,” Daphnes said. “We will try again tomorrow.”

The fairy squeaked ascent, and flitted out from behind the pillar.

The sorceress was there, floating above the ground, eyes blazing green and black fire in a terrible, white face. The fairy screamed and backpedalled, but the sorceress was no longer there. It turned, and the sorceress was behind it.

The fairy flew away, squealing, but every turn it made, the Shadow Sorceress was there, closer and closer each time. The fairy bolted this way and that, its squeals becoming one long, shrill shriek as its every move was blocked.

And then the sorceress was gone.

The fairy clung to the pillar, looking to and fro. The image in the orb swung, but there was no sign of the sorceress. The squeaks began to quiet, and the juddering picture began to still. The king and council watched as the image heaved with the fairy’s sigh.

A soft sound, and the fairy looked up.

King Daphnes shouted in alarm and the council recoiled as the sorceress’s face filled the orb, red mouth twisted and impossibly wide, eyes blazing, and the orb went black.

Silence fell in the king’s tent. Everyone was as still as stone, and Aldrich had his hands over his mouth. The king realised that he was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles had gone white. He released the table and stepped back. With his movement, a spell seemed to break, and the rest of the council snapped out of their horrified stupor.

Daphnes cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I apologise. I did not anticipate the witch sensing the scrying fairy.” He ran a hand over his beard again.

“Are we to go on with the battle?” a councillor asked. “Seeing as our secret weapon has been presumably destroyed?”

The king was silent a moment. Then, he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “To retreat now would signify weakness, and she must not think we are weak. She may come down from her lair, and rain destruction on us all. We will fight, and we will fight with honour and dignity, and kill enough of those damn Myyr that they will never recover their numbers!”

The council nodded, though their eyes were apprehensive. King Daphnes strode to the entrance of his tent, his purple battle cloak swirling about his shoulders.

“Let us make war,” he said.


	2. Zelda

_Fifteen years later._

Princess Zelda sat atop her white stallion as it picked its way through the silent battlefield. All around her lay the bodies of men and Myyr, twisted and broken. Her eyes were downcast, and her heart was heavy. So much death and destruction, and yet they were no closer.

She turned her gaze to the great, dark castle. It crouched on the horizon, an enormous mountain at its back, veins of obsidian spidering across the rock like a disease. It had grown since she had seen it in her youth, disjointed and unnatural. She had caught a glimpse as Impa had ridden away, back to Hyrule Palace before her father went to war. He had returned a different man, colder and sharper, haunted by the horrors he had seen on the battlefield. And now…

Zelda sighed, softly as a crow cawed in the distance. The birds had circled above since the battle began, and now the fighting was over, they were descending to feast. Ten years ago, she had sought to succeed where her father had not. A child of ten herself, she had the intelligence and dedication to spot patterns and bring fresh ideas forth. New tactics were discussed with her father, and her suggestions over dinner or during her bedtime stories were brought before the council.

As his health began to fade, and the nightmares of his last battle took their toll, Zelda began to take his seat on the council as a teenager. And when King Daphnes, the fourth of his name, finally breathed his last, Zelda had taken up the mantle of regent, ruling the kingdom alone.

A decade of research and training, and still they had been defeated. She shuddered, remembering. The orbs she had looked through showed the battle from a safe distance, and she had seen terrible things.

And _still_ the Shadow Sorceress lived, tucked away safely behind those great, dark walls. If the legends were true, it was the safest place for her to be, for were she to come down from her lair…

“Your Highness,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. General Bothus rode up next to her, armour clanking, his warhorse four hands taller than her own noble steed. “I have the figures. Four hundred and twenty-three of our men have been slain, and ninety-four are injured. Two score are unaccounted for, and a mere fifty or so escaped unscathed.”

Zelda closed her eyes. “Thank you, General. I hope this is less of a loss than before?”

“Your father had a much larger army, your Highness,” General Bothus said. “But we have lost just as many.”

Zelda glowered up at the dark castle. “A great shame.”

“Agreed,” the general said, gruffly. “But it was only a small force. The sorceress is still as powerful as ever.”

Zelda turned her horse and began to move back to the camp, where surviving soldiers and servants were packing away the tents. Her voice contained a sharp bite as she responded. “I did not want to waste all of our military force on one futile battle, Bothus.”

“I am aware, your Highness,” General Bothus said, no apology in his voice, spurring his horse to trot beside her as she sped up. “And we are training new soldiers all day, every day. We will succeed.”

“But at what cost?” Zelda murmured, half to herself. Reaching the camp, she dismounted, and clambered into the great, wheeled carriage that awaited her. Lord Aldrich was already inside, his hair greying at the temples, his long fingers grasping his notes.

“Your Highness,” he greeted her. “I am sorry we have lost once again.”

Zelda nodded and settled herself on the purple cushions, sighing softly as the weight of the day left her feet. Soon, other members of her council joined her in the carriage. Lords Rusart and Aldrich sat beside each other, and General Bothus soon heaved his muscular bulk inside. Once they were all settled, the carriage wheels began to creak, and they began the long journey back to Hyrule Palace. Zelda’s closest companion sat beside her royal self.

“Impa,” Zelda said. Her Sheikah nanny and advisor was as tall and strong as she had been fifteen years ago, though her hair was shot through with silver now. “Have there been any new reports of raids?”

“No,” Impa replied. She was the only person in all of Hyrule who could address her without her titles. “It would seem that as soon as we declared battle once again, the raids ceased.”

Zelda sighed. “She called all the Myyr back to the castle to fight us.”

“So it would seem. We have increased the soldier patrol in each major village and town, and we can only hope this is enough to protect the people.”

“How frequent were the attacks?” Lord Rusart asked.

“Infrequent,” Impa said. She reached into the middle of the carriage and removed the lid of a chest, taking out a corked bottle of wine and five goblets. She poured for each of them, serving Zelda first. The wine was sweet and cool, tasting of honey and flower petals. General Bothus grimaced, and threw back the wine in one gulp.

“Infrequent,” Impa repeated, “but that is not the point. Considering the size of Hyrule, one attack on average a week is infrequent, but serious nonetheless.”

“Must you Sheikah always speak in riddles?” General Bothus grumbled. “One attack a week is _frequent_.”

“I said on average,” Impa said. “Sometimes, weeks can go by with no attack, and then there are three in one night.”

General Bothus muttered into his moustache. Zelda chose to ignore it.

“I will see the soldiers when we return,” Zelda said. “I wish to see how they are progressing.”

“They are progressing as well as green-leafed new soldiers can,” General Bothus said. “I wouldn’t trouble yourself, your Highness. You should rest after today.”

Zelda stiffened in her seat. She glared at the General.

“You presume to tell me what to do?” she snapped. General Bothus balked.

“I didn’t mean to offend, your Highness,” he said, raising his hands. “I only meant…”

“To tell me what to do? I am your princess!”

“I…”

“Shut up, Gorir,” Impa advised. At a glance from Lord Rusart, General Bothus lowered his gaze. Zelda continued to glare at him until Aldrich coughed gently.

“Please do not think I mean you disrespect, your Highness,” he said, “but General Bothus has concerns in the correct way, even if his means of expressing them are indelicate.” Zelda turned her blue ice on him, but he held her gaze.

“This was your first true battle, your Highness,” he said. “I have seen many, under your father, Hylia grant him peace. I truly would recommend you rest your mind, body and soul before devoting yourself to another fight.”

Zelda bristled, but Impa laid a hand on her arm. She flinched, and then softened.

“Very well,” she said, graciously. “I am indeed weary. I apologise for my sharpness. You are my council, and have only my best interests at heart. I will rest, and we will regroup in four days’ time to discuss what to do next.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Lord Rusart said. “We all have some ideas of what we can do to keep our people safe until our forces are back at full strength. We _will_ defeat this sorceress, you must not give up hope.”

Zelda didn’t reply, but moved the purple curtain that covered one of the windows. The countryside rolled past, low brick and timber buildings scattered far apart. Herds of sheep and cattle meandered about. Her sheep, her cattle, cared for by her people, living in her Hyrule. She must protect them, no matter the cost. The Goddesses knew, they deserved some peace of mind.

Hours passed, and soon the dirt roads became stone, then they were passing the tall walls that protected Castle Town. Zelda heard the people outside cheering as her carriage rolled through the streets, but she had not the energy to open the curtain to wave to them. Her eyes were weighted with tiredness, and her heart was heavy with defeat.

Another half hour trundled by, and they reached the palace. The carriage doors opened, and Zelda was helped down by a servant. She straightened her back and strode to the palace doors, making sure to nod and smile to her servants and guards.

Aware that Impa was trailing behind her, she ascended the great white staircase inside, carpeted in plush, rich purple. Adorning the walls were the portraits of all the rulers of Hyrule before her. Great kings and queens, her ancestors watching her as she climbed. She sighed and paused as she came upon King Daphnes’ portrait. He stared out at her from the canvas, his stern brows low over eyes that seemed to glint through the paint. Zelda kissed her fingers and brushed the frame, before moving on.

“A bath,” she said to Impa as they approached her suites. “I am tired and must rest.”

“Of course,” Impa said. “I will ready it for you.”

Zelda entered her chambers, walking through the reception room, then sitting room to her great, grand bedchamber. The bed was almost ridiculously enormous, and could easily sleep six fully grown people. She and her childhood friends had enjoyed many a sleepover in its plush embrace, drawing the curtains around it and playing games of fancy and fantasy.

She sat on the edge now. These would one day become the Queen’s chambers, once she found a husband. She would reign only as regent until she married. Though such a thing was far from her thoughts, it was necessary for the continuation of her bloodline. Considering their history over the past few hundred years, it was a wonder they had survived at all.

She was fortunate, she thought, that the men she had met so far were of good stock. They were polite, kind, and blessed with the ease of movement and youthful faces that riches afforded those lucky enough to have them. She saw a potential husband in each, though her heart was not truly ready for such commitment.

What she needed was a strong, noble man, skilled in arms and sharp of mind, who was gentle to her and ruthless to their enemies. She needed someone who could end the Shadow Sorceress. So far, though her suitors were fine men indeed, none struck her as capable of matching her drive to finish her father’s work. And that was what mattered most. She would gladly see an end to her bloodline if it meant the sorceress’s wicked magics no longer infested her kingdom.

Sounds of running water came from her bathroom. Zelda signalled to her handmaidens, who began to undress her. Soon, she was wrapped in a soft, satin robe as her handmaidens brushed the few tangles from her waist-length, golden hair. Then her bath was ready, and Zelda sank into the hot water, allowing her handmaidens to scrub her back and massage her feet as she dwelled on their most recent defeat at the hands of the Black Witch.


	3. Zelda

Princess Zelda rose with the dawn, as she did each morning. No matter how dark her room, no matter how tired she was, the sun peering over the horizon would rouse her from slumber.

Her bedchamber was dark, the heavy drapes keeping the light of dawn at bay. She sat up, her sheets tangled about her legs. She wriggled, scooting along the mattress to the edge. No sooner had her feet touched the luxurious carpet that Impa appeared, slipping into her room like a ghost.

With her help, Zelda undressed and bathed, closing her eyes as she let the hot water lap her shoulders. The early morning hours were those she treasured most, for they were the hours in which she was alone with her thoughts. Yes, Impa was there with her, but her Sheikah aide was so closely bonded with her that she seemed an extension of herself, as opposed to another presence in the room.

It was a time for quiet reflection, to plan for the day ahead, to look back on the day before. To indulge herself, for the briefest moments, in thoughts of fancy, imagining all kind of grand illusions. Fantasies of meeting the perfect man to be her king, imaginings of racing across Hyrule on her noble steed, the wind in her hair. Pictures of what her future children might look like. But above all else, she saw her hand holding a fine, silver dagger, carving a beautiful path to the heart of the sorceress, who fell to her knees, weeping and pleading, as Zelda finally ended her reign of terror.

She smiled to herself as Impa left her to soak. She had no duties today. Though she knew the people needed her, her council had been right. The harrowing sights of the battle had left her worn, and she needed the recuperation.

After a succulent breakfast delivered to her personal dining room, Zelda sent for a selection of scrolls and books to peruse, seated at her desk, sipping hot tea. Her desk was before one of her great, arched windows, and it provided stunning views of the landscape below, the rippling grass fields stretching for what seemed like forever, peppered with trees and bushes, herds of deer and wild horses.

The papers brought to her were old. Centuries old. The oldest was just shy of four hundred years old. There were very few texts in Hyrule that were older than that. Those that were, were sealed in her Vaults, protected by iron and glass casings and magic. She had read them half a hundred times, copying them painstakingly by hand, not trusting anyone else to do so.

Her brows lowered.

Long ago, the sorceress had destroyed everything. It was a wonder that Hyrule had recovered at all, that anyone had survived. Zelda despaired at what they had lost. Millenia of history, centuries of technology. Whole noble houses had been wiped out, not to mention the countless common families.

Yes, it had enabled Hyrule to begin anew, to grow fresh from the ground, stronger than ever. But at what cost? How far could Hyrule have come without the Black Witch’s attacks? What could they have become, had it not been for her?

Zelda bent her head to her research. She had poured over every tome in her library, it seemed, over and over, searching for something, anything that would aid her in her fight. But it was hopeless. No matter how hard she looked, peering at tiny text, guessing at the wording of charred pages, it seemed as though her resources were exhausted. She had tried all she could. Her father had tried all he could. Her grandparents had fought with valour and strength. Their parents had stood and roared their defiance at the dark castle. None prevailed.

Zelda closed her book with a snap. To dwell on such failings aided her none.

She poked further through her scrolls and books, flitting through the pages without really reading them, until she came across one of her favourite legends.

It was the legend of the Triforce, and those destined to bear it. Zelda smiled. Even without reading the old books, her family history had been drilled into her from when she was old enough to listen, and perhaps even before.

She herself was descended from the goddess Hylia, and through her divine blood, held the right to wield the mighty Triforce of Wisdom. It was said that it only revealed itself to those pure of heart, when times were dire, and Hyrule was in need of saving.

Zelda rubbed a hand unconsciously over the other. Almost all of the generations of her family had held the triforce at some point, or so the legends proclaimed. Her mother had died when she was in her early teens, and she had never held the relic. It was her father who was of royal blood, and it was said the Triforce of Wisdom only bestowed itself upon the princesses and queens of the realm, those who were born in the image of the goddess.

She pressed the back of her hand with her thumb. No such blessing had come to her yet. Zelda closed her eyes and offered a prayer to Hylia and Nayru, the goddess of Wisdom. If there was a time that Hyrule needed the might of the Triforce, it was now. Now, when the sorceress still plagued their lands, hiding in her dark castle, sending waves of Myyr out into the kingdom to rape and pillage and murder.

She let loose a soft breath. Praying and begging would do her no good. If the goddesses saw fit to bless her, then she would use her triforce for the betterment of her kingdom. There was no point in wailing into the empty air for it. If she was not ready, then she would dedicate herself to improving, to becoming worthy, for the sake of the realm.

Zelda flipped through a few more pages, smiling as she read about the legend of the Hero. The fabled man destined to hold the Triforce of Courage, the man destined to save Hyrule from darkness. She sighed. Whoever he was, she needed him. Hyrule needed him. She would happily give up her own divine right if it meant that the fabled Hero would arise and save them from this wretched curse, this festering malice that plagued her people.

But the Hero had not come. No such man had shown himself for hundreds of years. There had been many a pretender, men who would swagger to the castle, claiming they were the destined Hero of Legend, proclaiming that they could rid the realm of evil. For a price, of course. Always for a price.

Zelda lowered her head and eased her book closed. It was no use in hoping. If the Hero was to arrive, he would do so in good time. The goddesses would know when to send him, though privately, Zelda wished he had already been, saved her people and gone. The kingdom did not deserve to suffer so.

Unbidden, her eyes welled with tears as the enormity of the task before her settled its weight on her shoulders. She covered her eyes and began to weep. All her careful planning, the efforts of her soldiers, all her stringent research had achieved nothing. Like her ancestors before her, she had failed. She had been so _sure_ that this time they would succeed. But no. They were no closer.

It seemed hopeless to her then. Her prayers had gone unanswered. Her work had been for nothing. The sorceress still lived, still sent her Myyr out to terrorise the kingdom, still cast curses that withered the crops and made the animals sick in the fields. Monsters still plagued the land.

Zelda sobbed. She needed a miracle, a miracle to save them all. She was but one woman, bereft of the powers her ancestors once held. What could she, a mere mortal, do against such unimaginable power?

Sniffing, she dabbed at her cheeks. She was being foolish. Crying would not solve her problems. Only more research, more soldiers, and more time would aid her. Victory would not be gained by moping and hoping. Something had to give, and soon, but it only would if she remained strong.

XXXXXXX

The following morning saw the princess rise with the dawn once again. Once washed, dressed and fed, she made her way down to her council chambers, Impa at her shoulder, a sheaf of parchment tucked under her arm.

Inside the chambers, Zelda made her way to the head of the enormous oak table, passing chairs of the same, until she reached her own seat, a glorious thing of wrought gold, padded with plump, violet cushions of duck-down and lambswool. A small fire was burning in the hearth, scented with lavender and pink primrose.

Zelda settled herself and ordered her parchment, ignoring the servants that lined the walls, each laden with a tray of finger foods or jug of wine. Impa stood just behind her, as still and silent as a statue.

It wasn’t long before her council filed into the chamber, grunting their way to their seats, bowing to her before they drew out their chairs. Zelda watched them impassively as they settled, her fingers steepled, touching the underside of her chin. She took a quick register of her attendees.

General Bothus, the head of her military, sat to her right, his walrus moustache ruffling over his broad jaw, hunching his round, bull-like shoulders. Lord Rusart, her treasurer, sat opposite, his red hair plastered to his head, failing to obscure the rapidly growing bald spot above his lacy collar. Lady Cara, her Relations Officer, sat beside Rusart and twisted her many, gaudy rings about her fingers, her hazel hair piled upon her head. Lord Aldrich, her Head Scholar, sat a little apart from the others, his sheaf of parchment larger than Zelda’s, his thin, nervous fingers twirling an ink laden pen.

Impa was, of course, not just her personal aide and oldest friend, but leader of the Sheikah, her network of spies. Zelda smiled, eyeing her council. Her Mage was absent, but she was unsurprised. The twitchy little witch could do little more than conjure sparks and claim to see visions in smoke. The princess herself could do more magic, and had made it rather plain that if her Mage could not improve, she was to find a better use for herself.

Her Judiciary, Maradath, was also absent, but this Zelda could forgive. There had been a spate of crimes throughout Castle Town this last month, and it seemed as though the perpetrator had been caught at last. Maradath would extract the criminal’s confession, oversee his trial, and pass his sentence. She only had to sign the document.

Zelda cleared her throat, sending silence across the table in a gentle wave.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “Please, provide me with your reports. Lord Rusart?”

Lord Rusart spoke quickly and softly, his report brief. Her coffers were stocked, her revenue exceeding her expenses. There had been a few instances of the common folk turning up less than their required tax, but Zelda waved this away. Her people would provide what they could give, and as long as the crown had the resources to spare, she would not penalise her people for trying to live.

“We will not remain on the up if you continue to be so lenient with the poor, Highness,” Rusart grumbled.

“Then perhaps I shall tax the wealthy, instead,” Zelda replied, coolly. “As their coffers could spare the loss.” Rusart twisted his mouth, but said nothing further.

“Lord Aldrich? How goes your research?”

“I have made a little progress, your Highness,” the slim man replied. “The most recent generation of scrying fairies are much the same as the preceding. Small, discreet, able to transmit sound and picture to us. I am hoping that, in the coming years, they will become smaller and faster, yet still able to transmit what we require with greater quality.”

“Good. And your other research?”

“There is little to tell, your Highness. The few pages we have managed to recover following The Fall have given us little in the way of knowledge. They are but scattered, useless things, itemisations of shop inventory, a love letter, the charred remains of a young girl’s diary…”

Zelda sat straighter. “Pay attention to the last. Decipher what you can. A diary may give us the information we need.”

“I fear not, your Highness,” Aldrich ducked his head. “It is full of the fancy of youth, observations of pretty flowers and tea parties with teddy bears, I’m afraid.”

Zelda twisted her mouth. “Where was it found?”

“In the ruins of old Castle Town, Highness. We are still excavating, and I believe it will be several years before we have combed every inch, as you suggested.”

Zelda lowered her gaze to her hands. No doubt the poor child that had penned the diary so long ago had perished in agony, along with all her kin, in the sorceress’s unforgiving assault. From the scattered accounts that had survived… Zelda supressed a shudder. She could not imagine such destruction.

“Lady Cara, your report?”

Lady Cara patted her hair.

“We have finished drafting letters to the families of the deceased soldiers,” she said. “I’ll be speaking with Lord Rusart later today to arrange the compensation before we send them out.”

She batted her eyelashes as Rusart, who coloured and glanced away. Zelda nodded.

“Bothus,” she said, turning to her general. “What reports have you?”

The general sat a little straighter, ruffling his moustache and few pieces of parchment.

“We’ve begun the recruitment drive for new soldiers,” he began. “Sent the notice out last night, Highness. We’ve already had some applicants.”

“How many?”

“About thirty-odd. We expect more to come in over the next few days. We’ll assess them and train them up to be fighting fit in no time.”

“A year, usually, is it not?”

“Roundabouts, Highness.” General Bothus shrugged. “Then it’s officer training for those that show leadership qualities, knightly training for those that show the most promise…”

“Yes, yes,” Zelda waved a hand. “Bothus, I have a task for you.”

The general sat straighter, his chin up.

“I want you to recruit as many men as possible over the coming months,” Zelda said. “I want them all trained to the highest degree. No sooner do they receive their soldier’s colours, I want recruits replacing them.”

“Do we plan another assault on the dark castle, Highness?” Bothus asked.

“Not for a while,” Zelda said. “However, when the time inevitably comes to us once again, I would like my army to be the largest, and most skilled that Hyrule has ever seen. Our piddling forces so far have done nothing but disappoint me, and leave my people in peril as we march into another futile war.”

Bothus went red.

“Highness, I must protest, the soldiers I train…”

“Are excellent in every way,” Zelda waved a hand. “But excellence is not perfection. Perfection is what Hyrule requires. I need numbers in my army _and_ skilled men to protect my people.”

As Bothus spluttered, Zelda motioned to Impa.

“What reports have you?”

Impa came forward and laid a single sheet of parchment on the great table, written in the incomprehensible swirls of the Sheikah; an unbroken wave of curls and points.

“There have been no new Myyrish raids of recent,” she said, her voice carrying in the still air. Zelda fought a smile. Impa’s voice was a wonderful thing. It was so soft and deep, barely above a whisper, but it carried undertones of authority and threat, as though daring anyone to speak over or against her, challenging any and all to see just what would happen to them if they did. Zelda longed to have a voice as powerful as this. It reminded her of her father.

“However,” the Sheikah continued. “That is not to say no raids are planned. I have identified a pattern of sorts. Once we begin our march on the dark castle, all raids and attacks seem to cease. We then have approximately six to eight days before the raids begin anew.”

“Bastards,” Rusart muttered.

“Quite,” Impa replied. “I have not yet been successful in anticipating where they will strike next, but have ordered the defences of our largest and most valuable towns to be strengthened.”

“Such as?” Zelda asked.

“Ordon Town, Kakariko, Elria, where our silver mines are, Zora’s Domain, and the lumber town of Mennin,” Impa said. “They boast our most valuable resources, and thusly must be protected at all costs.”

“What about the smaller towns and villages?” Zelda said. “Russet Hill, Lawrick, Abon, Johnsback? What about them?”

Impa touched her sheet of parchment. “None boast particularly valuable properties, Highness,” she murmured. “Our resources are best spent elsewhere.”

“But people live there,” Zelda said. “I cannot in good conscience leave them to suffer Myyrish raids because they do not have silver mines, or cattle, or lumber! It is unthinkable!”

“Zelda,” Impa murmured.

“No,” Zelda slammed the flat of her hand on the table, making her council jump. “I will not have it! Too many of my people have been killed by those monsters! Too many children have been left without parents because of those vile cretins! Too many women have been defiled by their foul intent, forced to live with the memories of such assault!” she turned blue ice on her aide. “Do you know how many women in Hyrule have been raped by the Myyrish, Impa?”

“Three hundred and seventeen, over the last twenty years,” Impa said, without hesitation. “But this does not account for any recent-“

“It is far too many,” Zelda hissed. “ _One_ is far too many. Tell me. How many of those women are alive today?”

Impa held her gaze a long moment.

“None,” she replied.

“None,” Zelda repeated. “They killed themselves, or were honour-killed by their kin. I will stand for it no longer. Protect _all_ of my holdings. That is an order.”

Impa nodded, once. “As you command, your Highness, it shall be done.”

A stillness settled around the table as Zelda clenched and unclenched her gloved hands. It was quite unbecoming of her to lose her temper so, but no one but her seemed to see just how important her people were! They were the reason Hyrule stood as mightily as it did today, it was through their backbreaking work that Hyrule had been rebuilt over the centuries!

“Highness,” Aldrich’s voice was barely above a whisper. Zelda raised her head and drew a calming breath. Her father would never have behaved so. He would remain cool and logical throughout, no matter how his heart was moved. “Yes, Aldrich?”

“I fear we may not have the resources to fully protect each settlement in Hyrule,” he murmured. “We risk leaving ourselves vulnerable. M-may I suggest a plan, drawn up with the assistance of General Bothus and Lady Impa, to allocate appropriate protection throughout the kingdom?” he gulped as Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “You would of course read our plans before we enact them, your Highness.”

“I shall,” Zelda declared. “Very well. Have it ready for me in a week.”

A few looks were exchanged about the table. It was a drastically short amount of time, and Zelda wanted to snap at her council, to make them see that it was necessary to move quickly and accurately, for who knew what horrors the Black Witch was planning as they sat and gabbled about such nonsense as _reasonable protection?_ All protection was reasonable!

But she squeezed her hands together under the table. They would obey, and she would look over their report and provide the necessary feedback, as her father would have done, with a calm mind and a clear head. He always knew just what to do. It was little wonder he had been hailed as one of Hyrule’s greatest kings.

“Dismissed,” Zelda said. “We shall meet again in a week.”

With a great scraping of chairs, her council rose and departed, murmuring together. Bothus caught up to Aldrich and muttered in his ear before the door closed behind them. Impa remained. She stood quietly at Zelda’s shoulder, waiting. She would wait in silence for hours, Zelda knew. She was still lost in thoughts of her father.

What would he have done in her stead? Would he have suggested every town, village and hovel be protected from the Myyrish raids? It was the right thing to do. But was it the _logical_ thing to do? Would he have sacrificed some of his people for the greater good? And if so, _how_ would he have decided who had the right to live, and who had to die?

Such lessons were denied to her now. He could not teach her from beyond the grave.

She sighed, drawing a long, slow breath and releasing it just as slowly, controlling each atom of air that passed her lips, squeezing her lungs until it felt like she would collapse in on herself, before repeating the exercise. If only Daphnes was still alive. If only he had survived his last battle with a clear head, not marred by the horrors he had seen upon the battlefield, not struck with palsied hands and lungs that rattled on the exhale. He could have taught her so much more.


	4. Zelda

The next day saw Zelda consumed by her duties to the realm. She sat for almost seven straight hours upon the throne, listening to the grievances and requests of the common man. Those favours that she could grant, she did, and those she could not, she found a compromise. It was not always what her people wanted, or needed, but the princess had to weigh up their individual desires against the needs of the kingdom. As much as it pained her to see her people less than satisfied, she knew it was a pain she must bear, for the good of the realm. And so she sat, a paragon of goodness and justice, as her backside went numb and her bladder filled, so that she almost sprinted to her facilities once the meeting was over, barely hiking up her dress in time.

Her last few hours of work were spent with her scholars, seeking any patterns in history that might aid her in the ongoing fight against the Shadow Sorceress. She left disheartened, for no such pattern had emerged. Miserable, she retired for the night, and endured dreams of herself, shrunk to the size of an ant, before a faceless, shapeless foe, as tall as a mountain. Her victory awaited atop that mountain, if only she could reach it! But no matter how she tried to climb, a great force bowled her back, slamming her against the ground, jolting her to wakefulness. Each time she closed her eyes, the dream reoccurred, and she found herself wincing each time she found a handhold in the implacable stone, anticipating the fall to come.

But as the dawn was breaking, and Zelda slipped once more into restless slumber, she found herself accompanied by a presence. Though she could not see it, she felt it beside her, guiding her hands as she began to ascend the mountain, shielding her from the gale that had so often thrown her back to the ground. The presence surrounded her, protecting her, and she fancied that she saw a magnificent sword, barely outlined against the air before her, rising, rising.

Zelda awoke fully as Impa drew back the curtains, allowing pale light to flood into her bed chamber. Feeling more well rested than was feasible, Zelda went through her morning routine with a smile.

“What is my agenda for today?” she asked her aide, as her handmaidens rubbed lotion into her palms and filed her nails into neat crescents.

Impa produced a scroll with no flourish. “General Bothus has requested you join him this morning,” she said. “He invites you to observe the new recruits.”

“Very well,” Zelda closed her eyes as her handmaidens began to massage her feet. “What of the afternoon?”

“A meeting with one of your suitors, Lord Sabine.”

“Ah, superb, he is a fine man.”

Dressed, fed and pampered, Zelda made her way through the vast palace to the courtyard, where Bothus was waiting for her. He bowed deeply from the waist, and fell into step beside her as they made their way towards the training grounds.

“How are the new recruits faring?” she asked, taking her time, aware that Bothus was used to a much quicker step. To his credit, he matched her leisurely stroll without so much as a blink.

“Seem to be shaping up well enough,” he said, gruffly. “We’ve had a good fifty greens in these last few days. Eighteen to twenty year olds, mostly, barely any worth a damn. Yet.”

Zelda offered the grizzled general a smile. “They will learn, Bothus. You have not yet failed me.”

Bothus grimaced. “You had the right of it before, Highness. Each battle we lose is also a failure in my eyes,” he grumbled. “But it’s not for lack of trying.”

“I am aware. I have faith. You say they are… unskilled?”

“Aye,” Bothus gave a curt nod, but a smile seemed to be teasing about underneath his moustache. “This way, Highness.”

At the edge of the training grounds, they took a flight of stairs up to the ramparts that overlooked the wide space. Zelda leaned on the balustrade and observed the men below.

The new recruits were indeed green, as Bothus had said, and not just because they were clad in the forest coloured tabards that new recruits wore. They held their swords gingerly, as if they were live vipers, or tightly, as though they were a lover they were unwilling to part with. Even to her eyes, she could see their form was poor, their stance bow-legged, their eyes unfocused and flinching.

“Don’t worry,” General Bothus said. “I know they don’t look like much at the moment, but give them a year with me, and they’ll be the finest men to ever raise a sword in your honour. Five years, and they’ll be as good as any soldier Hyrule has ever hoped to see.” He smiled at Zelda’s expression.

“They all look so…” she struggled to find a diplomatic word.

“Inexperienced,” Bothus said, with uncharacteristic genteelness. “I know. But, your Highness, there is one… come this way, please.”

Perplexed, Zelda followed her general as he led her to the other side of the wall. This overlooked the training grounds of the more experienced soldiers, those seasoned in battle or with years of training behind them. Amongst the blue that distinguished the experienced men, there was a whirlwind of green.

“Oh, my…” Zelda said, and leaned forwards over the balcony.

From what she could see, the soldier below was about her age, his hair a dark blonde. He held his training sword as though it was part of his arm, and he moved so fluidly across the ground it seemed as though he was dancing. Experienced soldiers came at him, one at a time, wielding swords, spears, maces and clubs.

The young man battered the weapons away with his sword, tripped soldiers up, pushed them, and flipped over them. Zelda’s mouth opened of its own accord as she watched. His step never faltered, his concentration never broke. It was only when all the soldiers came together to gang up on him at once that he fell from a blow to the back.

His sword flew from his hand and he went still, on his hands and knees, until he was allowed up. He was pulled to his feet and clapped on the back, jostled by his older comrades.

“Who _is_ he?” Zelda asked.

“Ah…” Bothus ran a finger and thumb over his moustache. “His name escapes me. But he arrived this morning at sunrise and began his training immediately.”

“I want to meet him,” Zelda said, turning to Bothus. He wore a wide smile.

“I thought you might, your Highness,” he said. “He’s something, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said, simply. Her mind was already working. From what she had seen, the young soldier was worth twenty of her best men, and he had only begun training _today_. It seemed impossible. All hope had seemed lost mere hours ago, but now…

Zelda followed Bothus numbly until she entered the training yard. As she stepped into sunlight, instructors called to the recruits, and as one, they dropped to one knee before her, one fist on the ground, their heads bowed. She passed them without seeing, and stepped into the experienced soldier’s yard.

As before, they all bowed as she approached. With no instructors to shout for them, it was up to their own observation to realise that she had arrived. The small group around the green-clad recruit did not notice her appearance. They were too busy chattering, jostling each other and poking fun. She could only catch glimpses of dark blonde hair through the group.

Bothus coughed loudly. The group turned, and Zelda had the small pleasure that still tickled her, of seeing each face flicker with irritation, then shock and realisation, then deference. They bowed as one.

All but the new recruit. His face showed no astonishment, and his eyes met hers. They were a deep, sapphire blue, and Zelda felt something flutter in her belly, before he dropped his gaze and bowed as his comrades did.

“Your Highness,” General Bothus said, waving unnecessarily. “This is our newest and most promising recruit. You have seen his skill for yourself. From what I have seen of him today, I plan to promote him to soldier immediately, with your blessing.”

“Rise,” Zelda said, and she was surprised to hear her voice had the slighted tremor to it. She fought not to clear her throat. The recruit rose. This time, he did not look her in the eye, but kept his gaze somewhere to the left of her cheek.

“Your Highness,” he said. His voice was soft and deep.

“What is your name?” she said.

“Link,” he replied.

“Link,” she repeated. Something about the name seemed familiar, but she could not place it. “I am most impressed by your skills. Where did you learn?”

“From my father, your Highness,” he said.

“Your father was a soldier?”

“He was, your Highness.”

“Where is he?”

Link closed his eyes for a fraction longer than a blink. “He died in battle four days ago, your Highness.”

Though his face betrayed no emotion, his words were constricted with a grief deeper than Zelda thought she had ever heard before. The depth of it pierced her heart, and she raised a hand to her breast, as though to shield herself from such pain.

“I… I am so sorry,” she said. Of course, men died in battle. Soldiers performing their duty. But Zelda scolded herself. Never before had she truly considered the impact their deaths had on those they left behind. She told herself she did, that she understood. But somehow, the stoic expression of this young man and the agony hidden in his voice told her that she had missed oh so very much. It brought back memories of her own grief, long since buried by duty. The loss of her own dear father.

“It was his duty, your Highness,” Link said. The emotion from before was still there, though not as raw. “His job. I am honoured to follow as he did and serve you, if you would have me.”

“I would,” Zelda said, almost without thinking. She caught herself, and turned to Bothus. “General, I agree with your decision to promote this recruit to soldier immediately. He shows promise, and I believe I will have use for him in future conflicts.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” Bothus said. He waved a hand to the men. “Dismissed.”

They scattered, one tugging Link by the shoulder as they hurried towards the barracks. He did not turn and look back at her, but Zelda watched him until he was out of sight.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he!” Bothus said again, as they made their way back to the palace. Zelda nodded. She could not get the recruit, the soldier, _Link_ , out of her mind. His skill with the sword, his strength in combat, his deep blue eyes, and the way they seemed to look into her very being, as though they were connected by something unspoken…

She shook herself. “Bothus, keep a close eye on him. I want him trained to be the best he can be. Push him. Test him. If we are to face the sorceress again any time soon, I want him to be there. I feel it in my spirit, my soul. He is our best hope.”

As she said the words, she knew it in her heart to be true. The powers that had passed to her through her blood may not be as great as her ancestors, but she knew the truth when it faced her. And she knew that this Link could be the one to save Hyrule from the perils that plagued them.

She pressed a thumb to the back of her hand.

XXXXXXX

In the hour between General Bothus’s revelation and her meeting with Lord Sabine, Zelda hurried to her library. It was an astonishing thing, filled with all the tomes, books and documents her scholars had been able to scrounge, save, restore and create. It was easily the most masterful store of all the knowledge in the kingdom.

She scrambled through her books, searching for anything that solidified the feeling she had experienced when meeting Bothus’s newest recruit, the man who wielded his sword with such skill. She found nothing, but frowned over the parallels she drew between the sorceress and Hyrule’s enemy of old, Ganondorf.

Both had secreted themselves away, casting evil through the kingdom. Both had raised armies of malicious and savage beings, hell-bent on sowing destruction and calamity through the realm. Both had sought to overthrow the royal family and rule Hyrule for themselves.

Zelda twisted her mouth at the last thought. The sorceress had shown no intention of overtaking the throne yet, though she felt it was only a matter of time. She had demonstrated her power enough over the last few centuries. She could take it with a flick of her wrist, so why did she not? Was she just toying with them? Was this all just a game to her? Zelda glared. It must be. The Black Witch clearly revelled in the suffering she caused. Why else prolong it so?

The fact remained that the sorceress seemed to be the very embodiment of evil, much like Ganondorf. Perhaps she was his reincarnation, and none had yet seen it, as she was a woman of black hair and pale skin, not flame-haired and dark? The princess sneered. There were a few scattered sketches of the sorceress throughout history, though they were all blurry and undetailed. It seemed that the artists had all tried to make her appear beautiful, though Zelda privately doubted this was the case. She imagined the sorceress to be a wretched, hideous being, twisted and wizened like a shrivelled apple. Only good people could be beautiful, like her, like her ancestors, like the new soldier…. The Shadow Sorceress must be an ugly being, so consumed by evil was she.

All too soon, Zelda was roused from her study by Impa to attend to Lord Sabine, where she enjoyed a pleasant afternoon of polite conversation and flattering compliments, impressed by the Lord’s knowledge of history and his gentle manner, yet perturbed by his lack of ruthlessness.

All in all, she thought, as she bade the Lord farewell, he was not a total loss. He was outclassed by many of his peers, but his company had been pleasant, their conversation coming more naturally than she had found with many of her other suitors.

As her handmaidens stripped her of her clothes and bathed her, brushing her hair and rubbing her shoulders, she wondered if it would do her good to put a halt to her search for a husband. She was adept enough at ruling the kingdom without a man by her side, and whilst the sorceress still lived, her primary concern should be to eliminate the threat.

She was only twenty, after all. She had many a year yet to go whilst her loins were still fruitful. She could afford to spend a couple of years at least focusing all her effort on destroying the evil that infested Hyrule, to save her sons and daughters being burdened with the same.

The princess smiled as she sank below the warm waters of her bath, her handmaidens tutting as she wetted her hair. Yes. She would wait. She would concentrate her energy on ridding Hyrule of the Black Witch. And she would carefully watch this new recruit, the soldier, the man, who had gone so far as to impress both herself and the hard-to-please Bothus on his very first day. She felt deep inside herself that things were to change for Hyrule, and she would captain the vessel that bore her kingdom into a new, glorious age. 


	5. Link

The sun was well in the sky as Link entered the cool of the barracks with his new comrades. He enthusiastically failed to keep the wide grin from his face as his fellows clapped his shoulder, jostling him and laughing.

He let out his breath in a great whoosh as Baldur, one of the first soldiers to introduce himself to the young recruit, cuffed him about the head in a playful fashion.

“The princess! By the Three, she spoke to you! Not just spoke, she _praised_ you, lad!”

“Lad?” Link elbowed the man. Baldur was his senior by only three years, having turned twenty-three this last season, from what he had gathered. “Who’re you calling ‘lad?’ I kicked the seven shades of shi-“

“Yeah, yeah, we were all there. But seriously, the princess! That’s an honour not many of us ever get.”

“I know.” Link grinned, his success washing over him like sweet, honeyed wine. The honour was so great he felt he could float. He had done it. He had really, truly done it! He was here, against everything, and the princess had noticed him! Not just noticed him, but she had been _impressed_.

“I think she likes you,” Baldur continued, ruffling his hair. Link swatted at his hands with a laugh. “I’m serious! Looks like knowing how to use a pointy stick without being trained comes in handy, eh?”

“I was trained,” Link began, before a bark of a laugh cut him off.

“I’m sure Greeny here knows _exactly_ how to use a pointed stick,” a sardonic voice said. It belonged to Dornan, another soldier that Link had trained with not moments ago. Link watched him as Dornan gave him a sour look. He had whapped the stocky soldier more than once during their bout, and he got the feeling that Dornan had been the one to smash him between the shoulder blades once his back was turned.

“I sure do,” Link said, coolly. “Especially around beautiful women.” His comment earned him an appreciative chuckle from those around them. He let his smile stiffen. “But I’d only ever raise my sword around her Highness to defend her.”

“Ooh, listen to that!” Dornan said. He put on a mocking, high pitched voice. “Anythin’ you like your Highness, let me polish your floors and give my life for you for only one touch of your fair hand!” He dropped the voice. “Don’t kid yourself, Greeny. We’re all in the same boat. We’re here to fight if needed, die if needed. None of us are special, we’re just fodder.”

“Shut up, Dornan,” Baldur said. “It’s not Link’s fault he’s good enough to get recognised.”

“Gettin’ recognised ain’t that special,” Dornan grumbled. “All it means is that he’ll be the first to be sent to die.” Donna placed a finger to his nose and blew hard, shooting something onto the floor. “That’s what you mean to our dear old princess.”

As Dornan stalked off, Baldur chuckled. “Pay him no mind. He’s been trying to get noticed by Zelda since he started here.”

“Maybe he should try harder,” Link said, with a shrug. “It’s not difficult.”

Baldur’s smile faded. “Perhaps not for you,” he said. “But most of us have come from poor homes. Not all our dads were soldiers, Link.”

Link kept his smile on his face, though he felt his cheeks tighten. “True. I guess it just means shits like him need to try a bit harder.”

“We all try our best,” Baldur said.

“Maybe our motivations are different, then,” Link replied. “I’m here to serve Hyrule, and Zelda. It’s what Father died doing, and I intend to carry on his work. Nothing else.”

“Honourable,” Baldur said. “Mind you don’t forget to have some fun while you’re honouring your duty.”

“Of course,” Link said. “Castle Town’s got some… interesting places to visit.”

Baldur gave him a cheeky smile. “If you’re as good with the ladies as you are a sword, I might need some tips from you.”

Link grinned. “I’m not one to kiss and tell, friend.”

Baldur nodded. “I’ll see you at mess,” he said, clapping Link on the shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’ll come with you,” Link said. “I’m starving after that scrap.”

After a fair dinner and a wash, Link lay down on his bunk in the soldier’s quarters. His things had been moved from the new recruit’s rooms to here, and piled at the end of the bed. He was sharing with five other men he didn’t know, and they hadn’t come in yet. Most of the soldiers had left the barracks, heading to Castle Town to indulge in what pleasures a soldier of Hyrule could before another hard day’s training.

They weren’t supposed to. A soldier’s place was in the castle, whether they were training or not, or serving whatever duty they were given. They had an afternoon every fortnight to spend as they pleased, though it seemed commonplace that most of Hyrule’s aspiring best slipped out under the cover of night. Link did not want to join them. There was no need. He was here to serve, and he would do his duty, no matter what.

He took a moment to savour his success. He was here at last. Almost fifteen years of dreaming of being a soldier, longing to be a knight, since he could first comprehend what it meant, and here he was. Promoted on his first day, barely four hours into training. He tucked his hands behind his head and lay back, the mattress thin underneath him.

His success was laced with grief. His father’s death was raw and vicious inside him. Link felt hot tears come up to his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, willing the heat away.

“He died as he lived,” he said to himself. “By the sword. Serving Hyrule.”

But the tears came anyway. Link sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk, taking deep, steadying breaths. He swallowed, praying to the Goddesses that the other soldiers didn’t come back and find him crying, alone in the dark. Try as he might, he could not stop the memories from coming.

It had been his nightmare come true. Waiting alone at home, pacing relentlessly, wearing a groove in the floorboards, knowing his father was fighting, not just for his life, but for his princess, for his kingdom. Falling exhausted into bed at last, struggling to keep his eyes open.

He had risen with the dawn, as he always did, and resumed his pacing. He did not go to work. How could he stand behind a counter and smile at people when he knew his father was out there, fighting? Wounded?

Dead?

But it couldn’t be possible. His father was the strongest man he had ever known. Nothing could strike him down, not famine, not sickness, not fire nor ice, nothing!

But it was with a leaden heart that Link had opened the door to the courier that afternoon. All day, his heart had grown heavier, iron bands around his chest growing tighter. He had known it from the moment he woke. But he did not want to face the reality that he knew. He pushed it away, desperately clinging to a dream, a dream that he was not alone.

It was with shaking hands that he accepted the creamy envelope, closed with a seal of black wax. He had known for certain, then. But still he denied the truth.

He had sat at their scrubbed dining table, a table too large for two, a table meant for four. He broke the seal and drew out the letter with trembling fingers.

_To the family of Ser Arn._

_We regret to inform you that Ser Arn has fallen in the line of duty. His deeds will forever be remembered in service to the crown, and his sacrifice will never be forgotten._

_Blessed be the Three Divines who watch over all, and blessed be the Light of Hylia. We beseech thee to guide our brother Ser Arn to his eternal rest, where he will await his loved ones in everlasting peace. Compensation for his service will arrive in due course._

_With condolences,_

_The Royal Office of Hyrule._

The envelope had contained details of the funeral for those fallen in battle. Link had barely glanced at it. His father would be grouped with hundreds other fallen men and buried with them, likely in a mass grave, no individual honour given to a man who had sacrificed everything. Even his name was in a different script to the rest of the letter, spaced out to fill the gap where a hundred faceless names would be written.

He had left his home the same day. There was no point in staying now. Why stay in a building where all the warmth had gone from the walls, remain in a dwelling where everything that felt like home had vanished? As the evening had drawn in, Link packed what he could and locked the door one last time. As he turned down the street, it seemed almost as if he heard the ghost of a laugh, an echo of times gone by…

Link brushed away the dampness from his eyes and set his jaw.

He was a soldier now. It would not do to dwell on memories that would cause him nothing but further pain. And the day could not come soon enough that he himself would see battle, and could avenge his father’s death by ending the life of the Shadow Sorceress who hid in the dark castle on the borders of Hyrule. For it was her fault. She was the one who had murdered his father. She was the one who housed the Myyr that killed his entire family.

His tears dried, Link lay back on the bunk. He had a bruise blossoming across his shoulders, but he welcomed the ache. It would be the first of many. Alone, he finally allowed his exhaustion to overwhelm the deep-seated anger in his soul, and he slipped into a deep sleep. And as he slept, he smiled, dreaming of driving a sword through the sorceress’s black heart.

XXXXXXX

Link rose fresh and well rested the next morning, unable to completely hide the smirk that came upon viewing his fellows’ heavy eyes and wan complexions. Eager for the day’s training to begin, he hurried to the mess hall and enjoyed a hearty breakfast, scanning the crowd for a face he recognised. It wasn’t long before Baldur joined him, yawning.

“Enjoy your night?” Link asked, elbowing him. Baldur chuckled.

“I didn’t go out,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

“Ah, no reason. It just happens sometimes.”

“Fair enough.” Link shovelled another forkful of bacon into his mouth. “Feel ready for today?”

Baldur sighed. “As ready as I am every morning.”

Link shook his head. “Come on. It’s an honour to be where we are! How can you not look forward to it?”

Baldur shook his head. “You’ll see.”

Shrugging, Link cleared his plate and left Baldur at the table, heading for the training grounds. It was quiet and still outside, the sun not yet clearing the walls. Link took a moment to savour the crisp, clean air. It was odd how, though only a few miles from Castle Town, the air was so much clearer at the palace. There was no stink of sewerage, no oily torchsmoke clinging to every available surface, no lingering fug of alcohol drifting from the taverns.

They were scents Link had grown up around. Though he was not from Castle Town originally, his family had moved there once his father was promoted to soldier, to be closer to him. They used to visit their home village each summer, until his mother and sister-

Link shook off the creeping ice of grief and focused his mind, taking a leisurely stroll towards the soldier’s training grounds. He arrived to find them as quiet as the rest of the grounds and stood a while by the weapons shed, taking in the vast space, eyeing the fenced sparring circles, the archery targets, the training dummies of sackcloth, straw and sand. He smiled, glancing at the sky. Not long now.

Soon enough, his fellow soldiers milled into the yard, chattering and laughing together. Some still held bits of toast in their hands, and some were smoking. Link set his mouth in a thin line. Was this what Hyrule’s aspiring soldiers were made up of? Lazy, dawdling, hungover fools? It was no wonder he had shown them all up on his first day. At least he knew what discipline was.

“FALL IN!” a voice bellowed across the grounds.

Instantly, the soldiers jumped to attention, forming neat lines. Link hurried to do the same, finding a place between two men he didn’t know. Before them, a knight stood, his armour polished so brightly that it gleamed, his helmet under his arm. He held a thin, ebony cane in his other hand. His thinning hair was cropped close to his scalp, his beard a neat goatee. His eyes were small and sharp, and they found the face of every man before him.

“RIGHT FACE!” the knight screamed. As one, the soldiers turned, their heels clicking in unison. Link kept pace.

“MARCH!”

Link took a soft breath. So far, so good. He had his father to thank for his knowledge. He dreaded to think of what would have happened to him if he didn’t know how to perform a basic drill as a newly promoted soldier.

The men tramped a wide circle around the yard, then another, and another. Link fought the urge to look at the knight watching them, feeling that even the slightest deviation from his formation would be seen. He could not afford that. He had a reputation to build.

At last, the knight called them to a halt. He stalked up and down before them, peering closely at each man before him. He came to rest at last.

“Sloppy,” he declared. “Very sloppy. You will do better tomorrow.”

“YES, SER!” the soldiers bellowed.

“Get your swords,” the knight spat. “DOUBLE TIME! HOP TO IT! NOW!”

The men turned and sprinted for the weapons shed, buffeting Link a little as they went. He made for the shed himself, but an iron grip fastened around his bicep.

“Not you,” the knight said. “You’re the green boy, aren’t you?”

Link stood to attention. He was half a head taller than the knight, but the force of his authority made him feel incredibly small. He did not like it.

“No, Ser,” Link replied. “I’m a soldier. Ser.”

The knight snorted. “We’ll just see about that. I am Ser Regis. I am your commanding officer. I doubt that any of these knuckle-headed whoresons have told you that yet.” He stepped closer, until they were almost nose to nose. “Here, I am your god. You eat when I tell you, you fight when I tell you, and you shit when I tell you. That clear?”

“Yes, Ser,” Link said.

Ser Regis lifted the corner of his lip in what passed for a cold smile. “Where did you train, green boy?”

“My father was Ser Arn,” Link replied. “He taught me. Ser.”

Regis’s frown cleared somewhat.

“So, _you’re_ Arn’s lad,” he said. “Figures.” He stepped back. “Get a sword, green boy, and be quick about it. I expect flames to come out of your boots! GO!”

Link sprinted for the weapons shed, skidding inside and snatching the first handle that came into view. The blade was an ugly, unbalanced thing, but that didn’t matter. He pelted back to the other soldiers and fell into position as Ser Regis sneered at the men.

“Groups of six,” he shouted. “Separate and spar! NOW!”

Link glanced about for Baldur, but spotted him moving away with another group. A hand landed on his shoulder.

“Come with us,” the soldier said. “We’ll go easy on you, don’t worry.”

Link raised his eyebrows, but allowed himself to be steered along with his new group.

“I’m Marnol,” the soldier said, giving Link a gap-toothed smile. “Been at this about four years now.”

“Link.” Link took the offered hand and gave it a brief shake. “Four years? Have you seen much action?”

Marnol shrugged. “Not really. I’m sent patrolling town mostly. Seen off a few Myyrish camps. Nothing special.”

Link grinned. “How long before you went out?”

“A year or so,” Marnol shrugged. “You join because you want to kill Myyr?”

“Who doesn’t?” Link asked.

“PAIR UP!” Ser Regis screamed over the muttering soldiers. Link and Marnol stepped apart from the rest of their group.

“DRAW ARMS!” Regis bellowed. Link raised his sword as Marnol did the same.

“ATTACK!”

Link’s bout was over in less than a minute. It took him barely half that time to find a weak point in Marnol’s defences and push him to the ground, his blunted sword at his throat. Marnol whistled.

“No wonder you got promoted,” he said, accepting Link’s hand as he was pulled to his feet. “That was… fast.”

“Again?” Link asked.

They clashed together as metallic thuds and angry shouts echoed about the grounds. Once more, Link found that victory came easily. It wasn’t that Marnol was a poor fighter, he had four years of training behind him. It was just… Link was better.

Their third bout saw Marnol beginning to lose his temper. Clearly frustrated at his opponent’s superior skill, he dropped his formation and jinked about, feinting with his sword and kicking up dust in a cloud that barely reached Link’s waist.

“Oh, come on,” Link huffed as he shoved Marnol back for the third time. “Are you trying?”

Marnol leapt back up and charged before Link was ready. Recovering, he stepped nimbly aside and stuck out a foot as Marnol went flying past, tripping him and sending him sprawling in the dirt.

“CHANGE PARTNERS!” Regis roared.

Shrugging, Link turned to face one of the other soldiers in his group, leaving Marnol on the ground, spitting curses. The man was gone from his mind before his turn was complete. This soldier proved to be just as easy to defeat as Marnol had been, his sword swings predictable, his footwork fancy, yet inelegant.

“Can you not touch me?” Link joked, as the soldier grunted, swinging his sword in a wide arc that Link ducked. “Come on, I’ll make it easy for you.” With a grin, Link turned his back and waggled his arse, laughing as the soldier took the bait, allowing Link to clang his sword across his shoulder blades as he stumbled forth.

“ENOUGH!”

Regis marched towards their group, glaring at Link. Link felt the smile slip of his face as his commanding officer cast a stern eye about their group. He made an effort to straighten his shoulders, and Regis snapped his gaze back to him.

“So, you think you’re good, do you?”

Link glanced at his fellow soldiers. “Yes, Ser.”

“Think you can take on a whole squad, do you?”

“I did before, Ser. That’s why I was promoted.”

“Watch your mouth,” Regis growled. “Let’s see what you can do, then.” He pointed to Link’s fellows, and called over another group. Eleven men stood before him. Marnol and his other opponent glared with unmasked jealousy and rage.

“All together now,” Regis said, clapping his hands. “FIGHT!”

As one, eleven trained soldiers of Hyrule leapt towards him, howling. Link jumped back and brandished his sword, battering away blows and ducking under fists.

_Eleven_ _men?_ He snarled as a blade whistled past his cheek, so close he felt it stir the shadow on his jaw. It was ridiculous! He had only fought six before! But he was here for a reason. He could do it. He could beat them all, for he had something they did not.

Link leapt back again, clearing a seven foot space. He could sense the wall looming behind him. There was no more room to retreat, but he didn’t need any more room.

He took a breath, and focused, drawing the fire in his heart out and along his arms, his torso, his legs, and into his mind.

In the space of a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow down around him. The men, charging, their faces twisted in a circus of anticipation, determination, and anger, stilled, moving towards him at only a fraction of the speed they once were. Link took another breath, and stepped into the fray.

Steel met steel, and he flew through the men, slicing against their tabards, striking heads, shoving chests, spinning his blade in a lazy arc as he disarmed man after man. Marnol’s free hand was snaking towards his belt, and Link saw the handle of a dagger poking out. He frowned. Personal weapons were forbidden. The flouting of rules annoyed Link more than the fact that Marnol was clearly about to stab him for real.

In a flash, he snatched the dagger and kicked Marnol in the chest, sending him careening back across the ground. Time returned to normal, and Link stood alone in a circle of fallen soldiers, each groaning in their turn. Panting, Link bent forward, his hands on his knees, his heart racing so hard it hurt, waiting for the wave of dizziness to pass. He swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat as his limbs trembled, as they always did whenever he used his talent.

Shaking his head, he lurched to attention as Ser Regis marched towards him, stepping over the fallen soldiers. He stood before Link and looked him over, before giving a single, curt nod.

“Impressive,” he said.

“Thank you, Ser,” Link gasped.

Regis looked down, and his eyes darkened. “What’s that dagger, green boy?”

“It’s his,” Link said, nodding at Marnol. “He drew it on me.”

Regis eyed him. “Truth?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Escort that puseous mass to the cells,” Regis commanded. Three soldiers jumped to obey, hauling the still groaning man away. Regis turned back to Link.

“That… thing, you did,” he said, his voice low. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, Ser,” Link said. “I’ve always been able to do it.”

“That right?” Regis raised his cane and jabbed Link in the chest. Link stumbled and fell with an oath, his watery legs crumpling.

“If it tires you that much, don’t use it,” Regis said. “Or train yourself to be better.”

Link glared as Regis stalked away, shouting at the soldiers who had gathered to watch. He had defeated eleven men in as many seconds, and all he got from it was an ‘ _impressive’_ and shoved on his arse? He set his jaw. He would have to try harder.

After a break for lunch, they were hard at training once again, Regis putting the soldiers through their paces with a set of gruelling exercises. For hours, Link performed push ups, sit ups, and jumping squats, followed by intensive cardio drills. He kept up, pushing himself, refusing to let up when his body protested.

_I have to do this,_ he told himself. _I have to do this for Father. For Mother. For Bree._

Their names became a chant in his head. Focusing on that, he was able to shut out some of the pain as the soldiers left off their exercises and moved on to archery. With trembling arms, Link was able to hit the target with each arrow, but he was furious to see none hit the centre.

At last, their training was over. Ser Regis gathered the exhausted men once more.

“That was an abysmal effort from all of you,” he barked. “I expect better tomorrow! Get out of my sight! Dismissed!”

As the soldiers filed away, groaning and grumbling, Link remained. Regis noticed.

“I said dismissed, green boy. You deaf?”

“No, Ser,” Link replied. “I don’t think my effort was abysmal. Ser.”

Regis cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing about his mouth. He approached.

“Well, look at that,” he said. “It’s as if the legendary Hero has come again to grace me with his presence!” he glared up at Link. “You’ve got some strength in you boy, I’ll grant you that. And maybe you’re not as big a dunderhead as the rest of these louts. But you’re a long way off being anything but shite in my eyes.”

With that, Regis stalked away, leaving Link fuming in the evening air.

He made his way to the mess hall and slouched next to Baldur, who clapped him on the shoulder.

“That was amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen _anyone_ fight like that, and I thought that about you yesterday! What are you going to do tomorrow, fly?”

Link forced a laugh. Baldur gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Hate to say ‘I told you so,’” he said. “Regis is a right miserable bastard. I reckon even if you did fly he’d find fault with it.”

“Mm.” Link prodded his beef. It was grey and stringy.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Baldur said. “He’s the same with all of us. Stuck me on nothing but guard duty because he thinks I’m not progressing fast enough. I’ve been here three years.”

That night, Link lay in his bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling. His fellows had once again snuck away to visit one of the many whorehouses Castle Town had to offer. Link was already feeling the effects from the day’s training. His father had never pushed him quite so hard for quite so long. But it was worth it. For one day, he would be sent out to kill the Myyr. And he would kill scores of them, if not more. He would avenge his family.

He thought back to what Dornan had said the day before.

_“Gettin’ recognised isn’t that special. All it means is that he’ll be the first to be sent to die.”_

So be it. If it meant he would be the first out the door to kill Myyr then that is what he would be. And he would kill them all. And then, perhaps he would face the evil bitch at the heart of all their misery. He’d prove himself to them all.

He allowed himself a smile as he remembered Regis’s words. “ _The legendary Hero_ …”

Far from instilling anger within him, now that he thought about it, he smiled. It was a high compliment indeed, even if Regis didn’t mean it as such. He was named for the fabled Hero of old, after all. Just what would it be like to be a man so powerful, so well respected, so loved by all? So feared by evil?

Grinning, Link let his eyes close as sleep overtook him, falling into dreams of heroism and adoring crowds, admiring the pile of dead Myyr behind him as he stood, tall and strong, and his family waved proudly from above.


	6. Zelda

A season passed. As autumn became winter and a thick blanket of snow covered Hyrule, Zelda found her days becoming increasingly busy. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that with the coming bad weather the Myyrish raids would lessen, if not cease. Unfortunately, no such thing happened, and she left her council chambers one morning, glowering at the sheaf of parchment in her hands, each paper detailing yet another attack her people had suffered. Those papers joined many more detailing the poor crop yields and infestations of other monsters appearing in her kingdom.

That wasn’t even to mention the crimes her people were committing against their own kind. It seemed that with each attack the Myyrish brought down, her own people committed twice as many sins, looting and stealing and attacking each other for coin.

“It’s monstrous,” she said to Impa as they strolled through the palace. The princess drew her fur cloak tighter about her shoulders. “To think that people would behave this way. Do they not suffer enough?”

Impa was half a step behind her, as was her custom. But at Zelda’s words, she slipped next to her.

“It is because they are suffering that they behave so,” she murmured. “Men are foolish creatures, seeking the easiest route to get that which they desire. Sometimes they feel it is the only route. The thieves and highwaymen are desperate, suffering themselves.”

“That is no excuse,” Zelda grumbled. “Where is their honour? We all suffer at the hands of the Myyr and that vile sorceress. If they continue to behave as such, Hyrule will be all the worse for it.”

She stopped at a window and gazed out over the lands. A sea of white presented itself to her, backed with an eternal blanket of steel grey. A hundred coils of smoke rose from the distant town. She sighed. At least Castle Town was safe. No Myyr in the realm would be foolish enough to strike her capital. Like the wretches they were, the cowards they were, they struck her poorest, most vulnerable settlements.

“What would you have me do?” Impa asked, leaning on the wall. She gazed out of the window too, her crimson eyes and silvering hair all that were visible above the high collar of the Sheikah. Zelda knew it was an honour to wear such a collar, as most Sheikah wore masks to cover their faces. The collar meant prestige, trust, and the respect of her peers. She was the princess’s own protection for a reason.

“As I said in the meeting,” Zelda murmured. “I would have these criminals caught and tried for their crimes. Their punishments should be severe, to deter any other men who believe a dishonest living is an acceptable measure in my kingdom.”

“The council believes such efforts are best spent elsewhere,” Impa reminded her.

“The council believe in working my people to the bone,” Zelda replied, curtly. “I do not. This tax they often mention shall come from their own pockets if they do not open their eyes.” She faced her aide, her oldest friend. “Impa. As your princess, I charge you now to select your very best Sheikah to find these criminals. I shall speak with General Bothus and command him the same of his knights. My people have enough to deal with at present. I would make their lives a little kinder.”

Impa bowed. “As you command.” But she did not leave. Instead, she stepped close to the princess and wrapped her in a warm embrace, her arms strong and secure. “Mind you rest yourself today, sweet one. Your throat was hoarse upon waking, and I would not want you to catch a chill.”

“Yes, yes,” Zelda waved her words away, leaning against the older woman’s broad chest. “Go. I must speak with Bothus. I have a few matters to discuss with him.”

Impa raised her eyebrows. “The young soldier?”

“Yes,” Zelda said, stepping away and smoothing her skirts, focusing on her hands in preference to looking Impa in the eye. “I wish to learn of his progression.”

There was a smile in Impa’s eyes as she bowed. “I will see you this evening, then.”

She turned and slipped away, vanishing almost before Zelda lost sight of her. She stood alone by the window, holding her elbows under her cloak. A small smile played about her lips.

It was no secret between her and Impa that she had taken a great interest in the young soldier, Link, since he had first astonished her with his exceptional skill. Whenever she found the time, she would creep to the high walls overlooking the training grounds and observe the soldiers, trying to pick him out amongst the sea of blue tabards. It wasn’t too hard, once she knew what to look for. Even if she could not see his darkly blonde hair, it only took a moment to spot the man with the greatest skill, defeating every opponent in his path, the man who tried hardest during drills, pushing himself further and harder than any of the others around him.

Her smile widened. She felt in her bones that he would be the one to finally take down the sorceress, the one to finally save Hyrule from her enduring wickedness. But she was a princess of Hyrule, and no matter her gut feeling, she must act with knowledge and wisdom, as her ancestors had. And to do so, she needed information.

Stepping away from the wall, Zelda took a long, meandering route through the palace, forcing herself to take her time. The midday hour had not yet struck, and to rush would mean her waiting for Bothus to finish whatever task he had set himself between the council meeting and midday. It would be rather presumptuous of her to arrive early and expect him to drop whatever he was doing to attend to her. As much as Zelda would be happy to wait, she knew everyone else would be most uncomfortable with the thought.

So, she dawdled, taking the time to admire the tapestries and portraits on the palace walls, the statues and sculptures set in alcoves. She traced a finger along the supplicating hands of a statue of Hylia, offering a silent prayer to the benevolent goddess.

Her genial smile faded as she stopped before a great tapestry that depicted one of the many battles against the Shadow Sorceress, depicted only as a shapeless, black smudge. She knew that once, Hyrule Castle had housed many wonderous pieces of history, relics from the past, tomes and tapestries and works of old. They had lost so much. Because of her. That sorceress, sitting smugly in her castle.

Yes, they had salvaged what they could. Yes, there was a store of history sealed deep beneath the palace. But that was not the point. What had been saved mattered little, for it was what was lost that pained the princess most. What things did she not know? What episodes of history had been lost forever, living memory having long since died? What had Hyrule truly been like, four hundred years ago?

Zelda was aware that she knew more than any other person in her kingdom, more than her scholars, even. She knew the history of the realm was bound to her blood. But the ancient scraps that hinted at a memory tied to blood and spirit seemed nothing but fanciful thinking. She remembered nothing other than what she had made of her own life. Any glimpses of other lives her spirit had perhaps experienced were lost to her.

At last, as the midday bell began to chime, Zelda stood outside the door to General Bothus’s chambers, situated just outside the barracks. She raised a gloved fist and knocked. Almost before her knuckles finished grazing the wood, Bothus opened the door.

“Your Highness,” he said, stepping back and brandishing his arm. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” Zelda entered, observing the General’s quarters. It was as she expected, frighteningly neat and orderly, almost austere. Her keen eye noted, that whilst the furniture was sparse, it was of the finest make.

Bothus clicked his fingers, and a young recruit, a new thing judging by his green tabard and flat feet, hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Thank you for coming to visit me in my chambers,” Bothus said, somewhat unnecessarily. Zelda had been the one to suggest it, after all. “I appreciate the gesture.”

“It is my pleasure,” Zelda said. She seated herself in a wing backed armchair, and thought, judging by Bothus’s flickering eyes, that it was his preferred seat. He said nothing, however, and eased his bulk onto the settee.

“Tell me, Princess,” he said, his back straight. “What brought you here today? I know you wanted to discuss something with me, but why not in front of the council?”

Zelda smiled, a cool, thin lipped thing she had become rather proud of. It was the kind of authoritative smile that advised those before her, though she was still in a pleasant mood, it could turn, were they not to mind their words. It warned those before her to be cautious, and not to take liberties.

“I have a few matters,” she said. She paused as the young recruit appeared in her peripheral vision, grasping a tray laden with teapot and cups. Her smile toward him was warmer, and he came forth, laying the tray on the low table before them, and pouring tea with a trembling hand. Zelda folded her hands in her lap. It never failed to amuse her how the common man was so awed by her presence that their very limbs betrayed them.

Bothus was less amused.

“Silly oik,” he muttered, as the lad left. “Eighteen, still a child, and he shows it.”

“Oh, Gorir, spare the boy some patience,” Zelda said, reaching for a cup. “It is all very well training to fight our enemies, but to serve tea to a princess? I imagine you do not train your men to do such things on the regular.”

Bothus gave a gruff laugh. “True. But that aside. Your business, your Highness?”

Zelda smiled.

“Very well. I understand you felt the same frustration that I felt during today’s meeting?”

“About the Myyr, or our own?”

“Both. But my focus is on my people,” Zelda said, blowing daintily over the rim of her cup. “I cannot have Hylians terrorising their own kind whilst the Myyr brutalise us. I have already requested my Sheikah search for the culprits. They will give me the information I need.”

“So, why have you come to me?” Bothus picked up his own cup. The dainty china seemed out of place in his chambers, the small cup swamped by his large fist. Nonetheless, he pinched the handle with a delicacy that surprised and delighted the princess. “Your Sheikah are the best spies in the kingdom, the most lethal assassins. Surely they could complete this task without my aid?”

“They could,” Zelda agreed. “However. I require them for other duties. Namely, my protection.” She eyed Bothus, who held her gaze. She continued. “My Sheikah will discover what they can about the Hylians breaking my laws, but I will require your men to deal with the problem. Make arrests, bring them here to justice, and so on, and so forth.” She sipped her tea. It was rather pleasant, flavoured lightly with lemon.

“If I was to ask you to put together a small, but elite force to bring these marauders to justice, would you be able to?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Bothus said, instantly. “I already have a force of six in mind.”

“Who would they be?” Zelda asked.

Bothus rattled off a list of names, none of which Zelda was familiar with.

“All knights,” Bothus finished. “A few show the potential to be part of your Royal Guard. They will get the job done for you.”

“Thank you.” Zelda placed her cup delicately on the table. “I noticed our most promising soldier was not mentioned amongst your chosen few.”

Bothus nodded. “He was not. The boy shows great potential, Highness. But I don’t believe he’s ready for much at present.”

Zelda sat a little straighter. “From what I have observed, his skill with the blade is unrivalled. His strength, endurance, dedication to me, to Hyrule… It is unmatched.”

Bothus gave a conceding nod. “All of this is true. He is skilled. Almost frighteningly so. He pushes himself every day, working tirelessly to be the best in the class. Any fault Regis finds with him, he corrects by the next session, much to Regis’s chagrin.” Bothus sighed.

“However. It seems the boy has let his skill go to his head. He has a habit of showing off.”

“Showing off?”

“Yes. Taunting his opponents during sparring bouts, strutting about after he scores the highest in archery, or finishes the assault course first.” Bothus glowered. “He may be our best soldier, but he is arrogant. His superior skill embarrasses and alienates his comrades, and he makes no secret of his frustration at their skill compared to his own, and no effort to befriend them. I would not want such a peacock to work with senior knights to take down serial criminals.”

Zelda lowered her gaze. “That is disappointing. I had hoped for much better from him.”

“Don’t read me wrong,” Bothus sipped his tea. “The boy is talented. Beyond talented. He has a natural skill that reminds me of those old legends, about that Hero fella.”

Zelda went still as Bothus continued.

“If he could just manage to take his head out his arse, he could be the best warrior Hyrule has ever seen,” he said. “But it’s a nightmare. Anything we tell him to do, he does it. Anything we tell him he needs to improve on, he works tirelessly until he does what we need. But tell him he’s arrogant? He just tells us he’s only here to serve the kingdom, or that the others just aren’t trying hard enough. Tell him he needs to fix his attitude, he just looks at us like we’re the ones with the problem and promises to keep training hard.” Bothus shook his head. “We’re at a loss, Highness. It’s all very well being the top of the class, but his flaunting is pushing his fellows away. A soldier needs his comrades. To truly come into his own, his steel needs tempering.”

Zelda smiled. “Leave it to me, Gorir. I shall speak with him.”

Bothus eyed her over the rim of his cup. “Far be it from me to tell you your business, Highness, but I have to ask. What makes you think you’ll get through to him when Regis hasn’t?”

Zelda’s smile widened. “I am the princess,” she said.

XXXXXXX

Zelda waited for five days before she sent for the young soldier. She knew word of her meeting with General Bothus would have spread through the palace by now, and she made sure that her chief gossipers knew to mention that she had talked about Link.

As she expected, word came to her that Link, upon learning of her interest in his progress, was swaggering about like he owned the barracks.

It was on a clear and crisp winter’s morning that Zelda approached the training grounds, clad in her regalia and her thick, fur cloak. She stood at the arch and observed her troops, her soldiers, the men who would defend her kingdom. She spotted Link almost instantly, a blur of blonde and tan and blue amongst his fellows, moving so swiftly that it almost seemed to be magic.

She waited for all of nine seconds before Ser Regis noticed her presence, and called a halt to the training. With a cool smile, Zelda stepped forth. She remained silent as she observed the men, standing attentive and silent before her. She took her time, strolling, eyeing each of their faces until she came to him.

To Link.

He stood straight backed and proud, aware of her presence, recognising her with the slightest tilt of his chin. But he stared forward, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance, as any good soldier should. Zelda allowed a smile to touch her lips.

“Ser Regis,” she said, her voice loud and full of command. “I desire this soldier to accompany me.”

Regis nodded. “As your Highness commands,” he said. He turned to Link as Zelda moved away, and she heard his voice, hissing on the air. “You do everything she says, boy, even if it’s cleaning the shithouse with your tongue. You got that?”

“Ser.” Link replied, his voice as cool as the air around them. She kept walking as she heard another pair of footsteps join her. Link did not walk to her side, but kept his distance, a respectful few paces behind her as they left the training grounds. She did not miss the stares of the soldiers as she passed, and felt that her companion did not miss them, either.

They walked in silence, their feet crunching in the snow, entering the palace and winding through the corridors, Zelda smiling and nodding to those she passed. They ascended a staircase, and took a turn into one of the quieter sections of the palace.

“Walk beside me,” Zelda said, her voice a soft murmur. In an instant, Link was next to her. He was far enough away to be proper, but Zelda felt a sudden longing for him to be closer, to be near enough to bump her shoulder with his own. She shook off such feelings. She took a breath.

“I have, as I am sure you have heard, taken a great interest in your progress,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his smile.

“Thank you, your Highness,” he said. She was pleased to hear his tone was deferential and polite. She snuck a proper glance at him. His gaze was fixed ahead, his face expressionless. He seemed to sense her look, however, and his eyes darted to hers, meeting for a split second, before flitting away again.

“You are most welcome,” Zelda said. She slowed her pace, and came to a halt at the end of the corridor. She had ordered this section of the palace to be kept empty, no servants or nobles to come this way. Link did not know this, of course. “I wished to speak with you. How are you finding your training?”

“I like it well enough, your Highness,” he said. “But my purpose is to serve you and the kingdom, not to enjoy myself.”

Zelda fought off a smile. He was certainly dedicated. His devotion to her and the kingdom was one that she had rarely experienced. Men were all too happy to pledge their allegiance to her, but when push came to shove, they were most often found deep in their cups, or in the boddice of a woman of the night. But Link’s words were backed by his actions, his unfaltering dedication to his training, his near obsessive need to be the best.

“Your skill is unrivalled,” Zelda said. “I have heard nothing but good things about your talent with the blade and the bow, and your prowess in your drills.” She watched him carefully. Though his expression remained neutral, she caught the beginnings of a smile, and saw his back straighten, his chest puff out.

“I have seen for myself some of what you can do,” she continued. “I find myself at loss to describe the raw power that you possess, the agility you demonstrate. And I have heard from General Bothus that you possess a unique ability. Is this correct?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Link replied, hardly bothering to hide his smile any more. “If I concentrate, I find that things slow down around me. I can move faster and harder, for a time.” His smile became wry. “Upon suggestion from Ser Regis, I have dedicated my time outside training to improving this ability.”

“And have you?”

“Yes,” he said, simply. He rocked a little on his feet, and Zelda wondered if he would literally begin to strut. His confidence amused her, but she withheld a sigh. She had hoped his arrogance was merely an exaggeration, told by jealous fellows. But, as she remained silent, he filled the quiet.

“I’m the best soldier you’ve got in that group,” he said. “I train harder, fight better, and practice longer than anyone else. The rest of them don’t even seem to try.”

Zelda raised her eyebrows at that.

“What makes you say such a thing?” she asked, her voice soft, but edged with a hint of steel. A seasoned courtier or knight would recognise her tone for what it was, but Link, for all his skill, did not seem to notice.

“I’m here to serve,” he said, with a shrug. “If I can do what I can, the others should be able to as well.”

Zelda favoured him with a cool smile. Link returned it with a grin, meeting her eyes. His head lowered, and his smile became conceited. Cocky. She nodded, and her eyes turned hard.

“Link, your skill as an individual may be unmatched, but you are leaving your fellows behind. A good soldier always carries those weakest, and walks at the pace of the slowest.”

Link blinked, his head jerking back.

“I don’t understand,” he said, his smile fading.

“You are too brash,” she said. “You are embarrassing your fellows, and you are alienating them. I cannot have it.”

“But Princess!” he protested. “I need to do more! It’s not enough, I can’t…”

Zelda held up a hand and he fell silent instantly.

“I am not asking you to rein in your effort,” she said. “Merely to be aware that you are not the only person training. Be a good soldier,” she said. “There is no “I” in platoon, nor squad, nor army.”

Link’s mouth became a thin line, and he ducked his head.

“There is in military,” he muttered under his breath.

“Two, in fact,” Zelda replied, with a smile that broadened as Link’s cheeks flamed. “But that is not the point. I am impressed with you, Link. Truly. But do not push away your fellows because you desire to be better than them.”

“It’s not them I want to be better than,” Link said, his eyes on his feet. “I just want to be the best. For Hyrule. For you. I want this nightmare to end as much as you do.”

Whatever words Zelda had stilled in her throat. She stared at the man before her, hanging his head, his hands behind his back, rather different from the prancing pony he had been mere moments before. She took a soft breath.

“The best you may be,” she said. “However. You must stop this teasing of your comrades, this flaunting of your skill. _Help_ your fellows, do not hinder them with your scorn. A soldier alone cannot be an army. An army marches _together_. Have I spoken plainly?”

“Yes, your Highness,” he said. His eyes slid to the side and he shuffled his feet. Zelda almost smirked. He seemed decidedly annoyed, but did not show it. She felt that her words had had their desired effect.

“Good,” she said. “I am pleased with your progress. If you believe your fellows can achieve what you have, then help them.”

“Regis won’t like that,” Link said, with a faint attempt at a laugh.

“ _Ser_ Regis,” she admonished, gently. “I believe he will appreciate the assistance.”

Link said nothing, but gave a deliberate nod. Zelda felt a sudden urge to reach out and pat his shoulder, to reassure him. It seemed a naughty schoolboy stood before her, scolded for teasing his playmates, or roughhousing a bit too hard, not a man of her age, a soldier of the highest calibre.

“I expect great things of you,” she said. He looked up and met her eyes again, before glancing away. “I look forward to your continued progress. You are dismissed.”

Link bowed from the waist and moved away, stepping back three paces before turning and hurrying away. He was almost at the end of the corridor before Zelda called out to him, and he halted.

“I would like our next meeting to be more positive,” she said, her voice ringing down the corridor. Link flinched and looked over his shoulder, before bowing once more and ducking out of sight. Zelda smiled, watching the spot where he had vanished. He would improve, this she knew. She felt a little guilty, taking a perverse kind of pleasure in bringing the soldier down a peg or two. But she knew it was necessary. If Hyrule was to prosper, if Hyrule was to be saved, she needed him to be the Hero that the kingdom was sorely lacking, and not another pretender.


	7. Link

It took weeks before the wound to his pride healed, before he stopped cringing at the thought of someone overhearing his verbal beat-down, but as Link threw himself into his training, he had to admit to himself that the princess had been right. He _had_ been showing off somewhat unnecessarily, and it was true that the majority of the soldiers he trained with favoured him with little more than dark looks and mutters as he continued to excel. His frustrations at their lack of dedication had boiled over more times than he cared to admit.

As much as he argued with himself that their derision was borne of simple jealousy, and his exasperation at their lazy attitude was justified, he knew it wasn’t so.

He did not slow his pace as winter began to warm towards spring, but he kept his tongue between his teeth as he sparred with his fellow soldiers, biting down on his irritation as he beat them again, and again, and again.

The clang of metal on metal was loud in the chilly air one damp morning as the soldiers of Hyrule practiced their sparring. Link nimbly sidestepped an overeager swipe from his opponent and followed up with a flick of his wrist, resting the blunted tip of his blade against the other man’s jaw. His opponent flashed an angry glare, as if anticipating one of Link’s classic quips.

Link gave a tight smile and instead offered the downed man his hand, pulling him to his feet.

“Nothing to say?” the man said.

“No,” Link replied. “But I could teach you how to strike your blow more efficiently, if you would like?”

His opponent curled his lip. “Regis can teach well enough, Green Boy. I don’t need your help.”

 _I can see that._ Link bit down on his retort. “That’s fair. But next time, try keeping the weight on your back foot and see where it gets you.”

He was spared a rebuke as Regis screamed for them to change partners. Link turned, and grinned as he came face to face with Baldur.

“I’ve been waiting a while for this,” he said, his smile resting nervously on his lips. “But now that I’m here…”

“It’ll be fine,” Link said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Baldur nodded and leapt forward. Their swords clashed together and the steel sang a solid note though the grounds. Link returned Baldur’s grin, and disarmed him in twelve seconds. He kept his smile on his face as Baldur swore and shook his fingers, smarting from where the flat of Link’s blade had connected with them.

Not one of the soldiers he trained with had managed to defeat him. Not a single one. It had become so that Link found his sparring bouts with them nothing more than predictable. He had begun to deliberately drop his guard, turn away, even fight with his right hand to try to spice things up. All that had earned him was a tongue lashing from Regis for poor sportsmanship.

Baldur stopped cursing and eyed Link.

“Was I that bad?”

Link shook himself.

“No, you were good,” he said.

“Then why were you glaring?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise. It’s not you.” Link pulled a smile onto his face and straightened. “Now. I’m going to try to disarm you like before. But this time, I want you to step to the left.”

When their session came to an end, Link had to admit that, while Baldur wasn’t entirely hopeless with a sword, there seemed to be a reason why he hadn’t been assigned much duty outside of Castle Town. But when their bout ended, Baldur smiled and thanked Link for his help, and Link was dismayed to realise he was the first opponent to leave him with something other than a filthy look or muted curse.

They stashed their equipment and made their slightly squelching way back into the muddy grounds, heading to the barracks. Baldur gave an exaggerated groan as he stretched.

“Full rest day tomorrow. What’re you going to do?”

“Hm?” Link glanced at his friend. “Train, probably.”

Baldur rolled his eyes. “You’re always bloody training. Why don’t you come out and enjoy yourself?”

“If I want to be a knight-“

“Link, if anyone’s going to be promoted, it’s you. Now shut up and have a beer with me.”

“Arse,” Link grumbled, but he smiled as Baldur tugged him past the barracks, through the grounds and around, looping past the palace’s high, white walls until they came to the front of the palace. The courtyard gardens were as stunning as the rest of the palace grounds, though looking somewhat bare in the early spring. They traipsed through, nodding to the soldiers on duty, casting a keen eye over the commoners that scurried along the great, marble path, hoping for an audience with the beautiful Princess Zelda.

“So,” Baldur said, affecting a casual air as they passed under the portcullis and stepped onto the road that would take them to Castle Town. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Link said, looking around. It had been months since he had last walked this road, months since he had last set foot in Castle Town. A sudden sense of foreboding washed over him, but he shook it off. It would be unchanged.

“I only ask because you don’t talk with anyone, really,” Baldur said. “Except me.”

“I don’t need to,” Link shrugged. “I’m here to train, become a knight, and that’s it. I’m not here to make friends. He raised his hands as Baldur gave him a wounded look. “But I’m glad for those I have.”

Baldur snorted as they made their way into town. It was much the same as Link remembered it, bustling, noisy and laden with the stink of taverns, torchsmoke, and people. He let out a soft sigh, not realising he had been holding his breath. If he took a left at the square, then a right, then walked straight for half a mile, he’d be home. He swallowed.

He tapped Baldur’s shoulder and led him away across the square, nipping down a narrow street and turning into a lowered courtyard, down four stone steps and into a little bar, tucked away and almost hidden from sight.

“I didn’t know about this place,” Baldur said, straightening as he ducked under the lintel. “Looks ancient.”

Link grinned. “Not many people do. Some say it’s one of the few buildings that survived The Fall. The sorceress blasted and burned everything, but this was hidden away and mostly survived.”

“Rubbish,” Baldur said, as they made their way to the bar. “It’s barely half full. If it was this old, it’d be crammed with scholars, more than anything.”

“Chance’d be a fine thing,” muttered the woman behind the bar. She was short and stout, her steel grey hair tied back in a bun. But she flashed Link a small smile. “Haven’t seen you in time, honey. Where’ve you been?”

“Training,” Link replied. “It’s good to see you, Lou.”

“Oh, yes, you said you wanted to be a soldier,” she said, taking two pewter tankards from behind the bar and filling them. “I’m sorry to hear about your Pa,” she continued. “Never got the chance before.”

“Thanks,” Link muttered, wincing at the sting that lanced through his heart as she placed the ales on the counter. She waved away his rupees.

“This one’s on the house, honey. For your Pa.”

Link’s thanks were more genuine as he and Baldur took their drinks and chose a table near to the fire, stretching out their sodden boots and sighing as the weight of the day left their feet.

“You come here a lot?” Baldur asked, looking around.

“Used to,” Link replied, sipping his ale. “Don’t ask why. Lou’s right, this place doesn’t do so well as others. It’s not that big, it’s old, and if it rains too much there’s a right sewer stink. Surprised it’s still going, but I’m glad.”

“How’d you find it?”

“Dunno. I just… stumbled on it one day,” Link gazed into the fire. The pub was nothing special, but all the same, he felt drawn here. Though he had only known about the old bar for a year or so, something about it was comforting.

“I can’t believe it’s been here since before The Fall,” Baldur said, staring about. “Nothing survived, Link. The Black Witch destroyed everything.”

“I know,” Link replied. “But it does feel old. Like a forgotten piece of history no one knows about. Wouldn’t surprise me if Lou made it up to get more business.”

“Well, maybe we can get a few more of the lads down here,” Baldur said. “Liven the place up a bit. Get them warmed up to you.” He gave him a pointed look. Link sighed.

“It’s not my fault they don’t like me,” he groused. “I can’t help being better than them.”

“You can help showing off,” Baldur said, his voice muffled as he raised his tankard.

“I’m not!” Link protested. “I’ve stopped teasing them, I’m trying to help them, for Din’s sake! They’re just jealous.”

“And how,” Baldur agreed. “But Link… you’ve embarrassed pretty much everyone. No one likes being humiliated, or shouted at. Rimar still flinches if you look his way. It’s going to take a while before they stop spitting in your ale.”

“Figuratively, I hope,” Link said, eyeing his tankard.

“It doesn’t matter.” Baldur patted his shoulder a little awkwardly. “I didn’t ask you for a drink to berate you. I actually wanted to thank you. I’ve never been able to block sideswipes until you showed me how.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Link waved a hand. “If at least one other soldier can learn to be better, then I’d be happy.”

“I mean it,” Baldur said. “That kind of a move could save my life, one day.”

“You need to learn more,” Link said, without thinking. Catching Baldur’s hurt eye, he sighed. “I don’t think Regis is teaching the important things. It’s all very well us sparring with each other, but once we’ve done that enough times, we can beat each other endlessly. What about our enemies? They won’t be using the same moves as us. There’s a more than a chance those whoreson Myyr will fight dirty, and as it stands, we’ve not even had that mentioned to us, much less taught.”

“True,” Baldur said. “Which is… partly why I’ve asked you for a drink.” He dropped his gaze. “Will you teach me? Properly, I mean. Not normal drills. Teach me how to fight like a real knight.”

“I’m not a knight,” Link said, taken aback. “It’s not my place.”

Baldur laughed. “All you do is whinge about how shit everyone is, and how crap Regis is as a teacher,” he said. “So, do it yourself. Teach me, and anyone who wants to learn. If nothing else, it’ll put a splinter in Regis’s arse.”

Link chuckled. “Fine. But don’t expect anyone else to join in. They wouldn’t want to.”

Baldur laughed again and drained his tankard. “Good man! We’ll keep it on the down low in case Regis gets too... Regis-y. Just… don’t get too sniffy with me when I’m not automatically amazing.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Link said, watching as Baldur rose to fetch more ale. He turned back to the fire and gazed into the flames. Teaching Baldur wouldn’t be a problem. They’d have an hour or two in the evening to practice after their usual drills. If Regis found out though… that could be an issue, even if Zelda had hinted it would be permitted. It was no secret that the ratty little knight didn’t like him. Though that wasn’t a surprise. No one seemed to like him very much.

He sighed. Small wonder the princess had decided to tell him off. Small wonder that Baldur had gently hinted at the same. He’d been a complete arse. He’d let his desire for duty and glory get in the way. What was it that Zelda had said? _A soldier alone cannot be an army._ So be it. He would have to try harder. They’d all stand a better chance against the Myyr and the Black Witch if the rest of them could even come close to his skill.

It was with a more genuine smile that he settled back in his seat as Baldur returned with more ale. They laughed the night away, talking of small things, poking light fun, getting steadily drunker until Link convinced an attractive young woman to go home with Baldur, leaving her shyer, but ultimately more beautiful friend for him.

XXXXXXX

A few more weeks passed, and as the spring came full to Hyrule, the change in Link’s attitude seemed to be serving him for the better. Though he still found himself frustrated more often than not, incandescent with supressed rage at his fellow soldier’s inability to perform even the simplest actions, he bit down on it, taking out his anger on the training dummies. The few times Baldur convinced him to take to the town, he spent his frustrations in other ways, making sure that Baldur had a companion for the evening as he vanished into the night with a parade of beautiful women. More and more often, they were joined by other soldiers. And as time passed, more and more of them began to join his nightly training sessions with Baldur.

When they were out, Link pretended to relax, to laugh, to joke, and to whore with his fellows, and their icy animosity began to melt. That wasn’t to say that they were friendly, but the frowns were becoming smiles, and each time he defeated them in combat, their grumbles were gradually becoming better natured as he pointed out their mistakes and showed them how to rectify them.

And at last, in the middle of spring, Link found a way to secure his fellow’s respect. For one morning, Regis announced that, in addition to their daily practice, three afternoons a week, they would attend something he scathingly called “Tactics Class.”

Thrice weekly, the soldiers were squeezed into a spare room in the barracks and lectured by Ser Untheridge, a wiry knight of a nervous disposition and owner of a single arm. Link found these sessions to be tedium personified, and often spend the time in a daze, daydreaming about killing scores of Myyr, avenging his family, making his father proud, and driving a sword through the faceless sorceress’s shrivelled heart.

This did not go unnoticed by Untheridge, who would scurry to his desk, flapping his robes and snapping his fingers under Link’s nose, demanding he answer a complicated question relating to their lesson. To the knight’s chagrin, and much to his fellow’s amusement, Link answered perfectly, each and every time.

“You!” _Snapsnapsnap._ “When faced with an encampment of Myyr, thirty strong, and your force is six, what is the best way to engage?”

Link stirred in his seat. “Assuming we have the element of surprise?”

“Of course, boy, of course! Pay attention!”

Link sighed and sat up. “Assuming that my force aren’t complete idiots, they would have encircled the camp and are armed with crossbows. We move as one and take out the largest Myyr.”

“ _Why_ , boy, why?”

Link allowed his tone to lean towards the derisive. “Because Myyr value strength and brutishness above all else. Take out the biggest and ugliest, and the rest will scatter like dogs.”

Small chuckles broke out amongst the class. Untheridge glared, his lips forming a thin line.

“And what then? If the Myyr scatter, you have failed your mission!”

“That’s why we set traps,” Link sighed. “And called for backup.”

The class laughed. Untheridge swelled, his face red.

“You think you know better than me how to take on the Myyr?”

“Evidently,” Link replied. “Because a force of six of Hyrule’s best against thirty Myyr would be a patently stupid move. We’d need at least thrice that, if not more.”

Link sat back as Untheridge mouthed soundlessly.

“We’d need at least twenty men to be safe, the perimeter surrounded, and the area scouted,” Link continued. “Before I’d even consider making such an assault.”

“But the question,” Untheridge hissed, pushing his sallow face into Link’s, “was what would you do if it was six against thirty?”

“Nothing,” Link replied. “Because I’d never make such a rash decision.”

“ _Ser_ ,” Untheridge spat.

“There’s no need to call me Ser,” Link said. “I’m not a knight yet.”

The other soldiers exploded in a sea of supressed guffaws and sniggers. Link grinned as Untheridge straightened with as much dignity as he could muster, and returned to the front of the room, whacking the blackboard with his stick and trying vainly to restore order.

“Ser, Ser!” Link called him back.

“What?” Untheridge pinched the bridge of his nose. “What, boy?”

“Can I borrow something of yours?”

“I… borrow? Borrow, boy? What could you possibly want to borrow from me?”

“Your brain,” Link said. “I’m building an idiot.”

Untheridge screamed with rage and stormed from the classroom as Link laughed along with his fellows, clutching their sides.

A month of such events passed, and Link found that, with the end of each class, his fellow soldiers were happier to pass a smile his way, to laugh, or clap him on the shoulder. He paid less and less attention during the lessons, preferring instead to doodle on his parchment, lost in imaginings of what his future could hold, if only his teachers could see his potential. As Untheridge droned on about the importance of working as a team, obeying your commanding officer no matter the order, the subtle intricacies of ambush tactics and a variety of formations, he gazed out the window, daydreaming about becoming a knight, and being revealed to be the lost Hero of legend, until Untheridge slammed his cane on his desk, missing Link’s fingers by a hair’s breadth.

In retaliation, Link took to doing impressions of Untheridge over dinner, sticking his nose in the air and clenching until his face turned red.

“ _Pay attention, PAY ATTENTION!_ ” he shrieked, slapping his hand on the table to roars of laughter during one such episode. “What is the best way to angle your cock when approaching a whore? No, Perdue, _pay attention!_ ” he stood up and grabbed the front of his trousers as Baldur wiped tears from his eyes, and Perdue spluttered over his soup. “Approach with it held straight in your hand, not that I’d know, then fling yourself forward and hope for the best!” more laughter. “If you miss on the first try, be sure to insult her for her failure, and her mother for good measure!”

His brethren howled, pounding their fists. Link began to pace along the bench, pretending to cuff the men about the head.

“Pay attention!” he yowled, snapping his fingers. “To be a great tactician, you must follow these rules. One, stick a wooden spoon up your arse every morning to achieve the desired waddle!” More laughter as he imitated Untheridge’s flat-footed gait. “Two! Ensure your whiskers are displayed proudly on the top lip in the latest and greatest style, that of an old woman’s unshorn unmentionables!”

The laughter was dying. Link redoubled his efforts, sticking a finger in the air and affecting an attitude of false modesty. “Of course, if you are virtuous, you’ll magically understand what I mean to tell you, even when I do a piss poor job of explaining myself!”

He looked down. The soldiers were watching with wary eyes. Link frowned.

“What?”

A hand landed on his shoulder. Link winced and turned, coming nose to nose with none other than General Bothus.

“Eep,” Link said.

Bothus gave a tight smile.

“At ease, lads,” he said, his voice rumbling. “Link. If you would follow me.”

He felt the colour rush to his cheeks as Bothus moved away. But he turned to his fellows at the table and gave a rueful shrug, as if to say “oh well, bound to happen.” Light chuckles reached him as he followed Bothus from the mess hall.

They walked in silence through the darkened stone corridors, lit by torchlight, the only sound their footfalls, strangely muffled. Bothus marched them through the barracks and out into the training grounds, crossing to an arch Link had not been through, and to a fairly nondescript building.

Inside was austere, the furnishings minimal, but of the finest make. Bothus pointed at the sofa, and Link sat down as the general settled himself in a winged armchair. He rested his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers together, fixing Link with a stern glare. Link said nothing, but kept his eyes on the wooden floor. Playing about with his brethren was one thing, infuriating Untheridge and undermining Regis another, but he could not cheek the general.

“I’m pleased to see you’re getting along better with your squaddies,” Bothus said, at last.

Link looked up. “Me too,” he said.

“I’m pleased you took the Princess’s words to heart.”

Link felt the colour rise in his cheeks again. “Ah. Yes. You knew about that?”

“As does every noble in the castle, and probably most of the servants. Naturally, everyone in the capital has heard something of it.” Bothus replied. Link cringed at the thought. Thas was not the reputation he wanted.

“I’m doing what I can,” he said, staring at his hands. “But…” he stopped. He was a soldier. He obeyed orders. That was all. He did not question where officers could hear. He did not gripe where he could be overheard. He had to suck it up and get on with it, if he was to ever be a knight.

“Then why are you still unsatisfied?” Bothus said. Link looked up, startled.

“I’m not,” he said, quickly. Bothus raised his eyebrows.

“It has not escaped my attention that you are… restless,” he said. “I have been watching you most closely, as has the Princess.” He fixed Link with an eye that seemed to bore right through him. Link looked away and fidgeted. “You excel at training, bettering yourself each time. And in Tactics… though Untheridge is less than impressed by your attitude, nonetheless concedes that you have a clever head on your shoulders.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Link muttered. He was not here to be praised. No one got called to the general’s quarters to be _praised_. He perched on the edge of his seat, his fingers laced together, waiting. His heart rose in his throat. Had he gone too far with his impressions? Had his months of berating his fellows caught up to him at last? Was this it? He swallowed. How could he talk his way out of it if Bothus decided he wasn’t of the right stock and banished him?

He opened his mouth.

“Why are you bored?” Bothus asked.

“I… I’m not,” Link replied, hesitantly.

“I would advise you not to lie,” Bothus responded, his tone hardening. “I’ve trained enough men to know their feelings. Tell me true. What troubles you?”

Link went scarlet at the rebuke. He took a breath. He could not insult the general. He had to be careful. He took another breath, letting it out slowly. Bothus tilted his head to one side as Link’s frustrations began to boil up. He clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing. He had to be calm, he had to be stoic, he had to prove he could-

“It’s not enough!” he burst out. He froze and threw a guilty look to the general, who simply watched him. The silence bloomed.

“Continue,” Bothus said, after an agonising minute.

“I…” Link swallowed. “It’s… I can do more, General. All these drills, this training, I can do it in my sleep! I’m not being challenged, and it’s making the rest of them feel bad.” Bothus raised his brows, and Link forged on. “I’ve stopped being an arse. At least, I think so. I’m trying to help them.”

“And making fun of your instructors helps them?”

“It makes them like me,” Link said, staring at the floor. “And I think we both know I need that.” He glanced at Bothus, whose expression was unreadable. Link sighed. “I know I made a fool of myself. I alienated my brothers in arms. But I need to do more! I’m above this,” he waved a hand. “I can’t serve the Princess or the kingdom if I’m stuck doing drills I can do blindfolded, with men I can defeat with both hands tied behind my back! I need to do more!”

“Like kill the sorceress?” Bothus said.

“Yes!” Link exclaimed. “She’s been in power for centuries! No one has beaten her! I’m the best you’ve got! Use me!” he stopped. He hadn’t realised he had been shouting. He ducked his head. “But I’ll do what I have to. If you think staying where I am is what’s best, then I will. But I want this done. I want to avenge my father and use my skill to… to… save the realm.” He tailed off, staring at his feet. Saying it aloud sounded so stupid. A boyish dream of grandeur, a ridiculous fable. The unachievable imaginings of a child.

No one could defeat the sorceress. She had terrorised Hyrule for almost half a millennia, buffeting away every attempt to bring her down like an irksome fly at her dinner table. He thought on the hundreds of whispered stories he had heard of her growing up. That to speak her name meant death, so that it had been cast into oblivion, forgotten by all and sundry, lest some poor sod speak it unwittingly and turn her attention to them in fire and fury.

She had a violin of bone, that when played, it enticed children away from their homes and into darkness, warping them into monsters that fell upon their former homes and rent their parents limb from limb. If an adult were to hear it, they would be cursed to die in three days.

On moonless nights, she melded with the shadows and stalked lone travellers on the roads, bewitching their minds so that they saw their worst fears, and died of fright. Though Link privately thought some of the tales were naught but fancy, the reports that seeped through Hyrule of her prowess in battle supported many of the stories of her unbridled power.

To imagine that he, of all people could be the one to end her life was ridiculous. Yes, he was skilled. But that counted for nothing. He was nothing. Just another soldier, the first to be sent to die, as Dornan had once said.

“I hear you,” Bothus said, and Link looked up, astonished. “It does not surprise me that you are frustrated with your training. I have observed you trying to make things harder for yourself, fighting with your unfavoured hand, lowering your guard, even placing stones in your shoes.” Bothus smiled. “Little escapes me.”

“So what should I do?” Link asked. “If I remain here, as a soldier…” he trailed off, hopefully.

Bothus shook his head. “I cannot promote you to knight because you are bored,” he said, gruffly. Link looked back at his feet, trying to hide his disappointment. “But.” Link looked up. “But. We have had word of a camp of Myyr in the north, a small one, about six or so. I would like you to go with a squadron to eliminate them.”

Link jumped up.

“Thank you,” he gasped. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for! “I won’t let you down, I promise you, General, I’ll be the best squad leader you ever-“

Bothus raised a hand. “I didn’t say you’d lead,” he said. Link went still as Bothus continued.

“I have had no confirmation of your leadership skills, and from what I have seen, you tend to intimidate and irritate your fellows.” He gave Link a meaningful look. “Another will lead, and you will follow. If the camp of Myyr is successfully eliminated, I will consider allowing you to lead in future missions. Do well with those, and a promotion may be in your future.”

“I…” Link bowed, deeply. “Thank you for this opportunity.”

Bothus nodded. “You’ll have your orders in a few days. Dismissed.”

Link almost flew out of the cabin. It seemed as if wings had been attached to his heels, so light did he feel. At last, at long last, he was being given the chance to prove himself! He was going out there, out into Hyrule to fight and kill Myyr, to show just how good he was! And once Bothus and the Princess saw just how well he could slaughter those purple-skinned demons, they’d know. They’d know he was the man to ride first into battle, to lead men into victory! For this was his purpose, the reason he was here on this earth.

He skidded back into the mess hall in time for dessert. The other soldiers looked up as he entered, their eyes at once curious, then surprised as he bounced back to his table, where Baldur pushed a plate of cherry pie towards him.

“That grin tells me you didn’t get the bollocking we were all expecting,” he murmured as Link gleefully dug a fork into the pie.

“Not a bit of it,” he chortled. “Well, a little,” he winked at his companions, who returned his laugh. “But no. I don’t want to sound like I’m boasting, but I think my hard work’s paid off!”

“Oh? Congratulations,” Baldur said, as their fellow soldiers made appreciative noises. “How so?”

“Bothus’s asked me to go on a mission to clear out a Myyrish camp,” Link said, his grin so wide it almost hurt. “I can’t believe it. I’ve only been here a few months and I’m already going out to kill Myyr!”

“That’s brilliant,” Baldur said, as varied congratulations swept over the table. “But just be careful. Those Myyr are tricky bastards.”

“Ah, we’ll see how tricky they are when their blood’s on my blade,” Link said, shovelling pie into his mouth. The crust was dry and the filling two days old, but there was still a lingering sweetness that wasn’t all down to his good mood. “They won’t stand a chance!”

“That’s as may be,” Baldur said. “I’ve been around long enough to hear what the men who fight them report. They’re a lot stronger and faster up close. Don’t lose your head, or you might actually lose it. You, or the men who’re with you.”

Link mellowed enough to favour his friend with a genuine smile.

“I won’t,” he promised. “Trust me, Baldur. If anyone should be worried, it’s those purple bastards.”

Baldur shrugged and went back to his pie as Link began to jape with his fellows. But his heart was only half in the tomfoolery. Once he had killed enough Myyr, then maybe he would attract the attention of the Black Witch of the Dark Castle. He grinned wolfishly as he almost skipped through the barracks towards his bed. Perhaps he could challenge her to single combat. And then, only then, would Hyrule be safe, when he took off her head and made his father proud.


	8. Zelda

Zelda frowned, her smooth forehead creasing as her fine, blonde brows connected. She held her hands in front of her, curling her fingers, willing her magic forth. Between her palms, a golden light appeared, glimmering. A shimmering, translucent orb grew around the light, enveloping her hands in warmth. She took a sharp breath, willing the orb to grow.

“Now!” She gasped.

Opposite her, Impa flicked her wrist. A pen came zinging across the room and hit the orb, bouncing off and spraying a jet of royal blue across her desk.

“Oh, Din’s fire!” Zelda cursed, dropping her hands. The golden orb vanished. “My papers!”

Impa swooped over. “My apologies, Zelda. That was my fault. I neglected to check if the pen was empty.”

“Oh, it is not your fault,” Zelda sighed, though privately, she wanted to shout at Impa for her foolish mistake. Her notes had taken hours to write, and now they were ruined. She retreated to her reception room as Impa began to blot at the ink. Despite the accident, she smiled. Years ago, she had fought to conjure little more than pretty sparkles, which barely glimmered over her fingers as she struggled and swore in a most unladylike way.

But the princesses and queens descended from Hylia were supposed to be able to hold great and powerful magic, bolstered by their connection to the triforce. So, she had practiced every single day, drawing on the power of her blood, her divine spirit, praying to Hylia and the three Divines, sometimes for hours at a stretch. And she had been rewarded.

Though her magic was still weak, it had improved. And surely, with continued dedication and devotion, she would develop powers akin to her ancestors. Her smile widened as she sank onto one of her grand sofas, pushing loose strands of hair off her damp brow. Perhaps one day, the triforce would come to her, if she continued in her devotion.

She summoned her powers again, concentrating this time not on a ward, but on healing magic. She had no cuts nor bruises to heal on herself, but that did not mean she could not cast the spell. A rose-gold glow encased her hands this time, and she smiled, enjoying the gentle warmth that enveloped her. She held the spell a long minute, toying with the glow, letting it pulse in time with her heart. She let the magic fade away as Impa returned, her hands laden with stained bits of tissue that she fed to the fire. She unclipped her collar and sat next to Zelda, a smile on her slender lips.

“Do you require more practice?” she asked.

“No,” Zelda said, rubbing her fingertips together. “Unless you have an injury in need of healing?”

Impa chuckled and rolled up her sleeve, producing a wicked stiletto from under her cloak. She flicked her wrist before Zelda could speak, and a thin, red line appeared on her arm. Zelda gasped as beads of blood welled.

“I do now,” the Sheikah said.

Zelda ripped off her gloves and held her palms over the wound, summoning the magic. Her hands glowed, and the slim cut on Impa’s skin shrank, and dimmed to a thin, white line. Impa’s smile widened as Zelda released the magic and clutched her aide’s hand, her eyes wide.

“You mustn’t do that!” She admonished, her heart fluttering. “Do not wound yourself for such a trite want!”

“I live to serve you, sweet one,” Impa murmured. “You wished to practice.” Her eyes softened as Zelda shook her head and released her. “Your parents would have been proud of your progress,” Impa said. “Your father especially.”

Zelda’s smile dimmed. “I know,” she said, her eyes downcast. “Thank you.”

Impa hesitated a moment, but Zelda raised her chin. “I would study for the next few hours, Impa. I wish to remain undisturbed.”

Impa bowed. “As you command,” she replied. She retreated, beckoning to the handmaiden hovering unobtrusively by the wall.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Zelda lowered her head into her hands and began to cry. Though her father had been laid to rest almost two years ago, now, she still felt the rawness of his absence like a hole in her chest. Impa was right, he would have been proud of her. But she longed to hear the words from him.

Her mother would not have been so impressed. It seemed that, no matter what Zelda did as a child, it was never quite enough for the queen. She was not studying hard enough, her progress was not swift enough, the magics she conjured were little more than tricks, fit for a jester of the court. Certainly not impressive enough for a princess of the realm, one who was supposed to carry on their bloodline and the task of defeating the sorceress. She wanted nothing more than to please her mother, but with each passing year, the praise she so craved slid further and further away, until she stopped trying to show her the feats she accomplished, seeking the approval she craved.

When her mother died in a riding accident, it had been Daphnes who had taken over her tutelage, teaching the young princess not just the subtle arts of ruling a kingdom, but the tactics of war, a challenge Zelda had risen to with fervour and dedication, for Daphnes rewarded her efforts with kind words and encouragement, pushing her hard enough to make her curse and scream, and hard enough to reveal wonderful results.

He had admitted to her once, long ago, that her mother had been a jealous woman. Jealous of the divinity of Zelda’s blood, envious of her magic, resentful of her beauty and popularity with the court. And though she had cried at her funeral, Zelda had to admit to herself, secretly, when she was alone, that it was not all too much of a bad thing that she was gone. And she had flourished until Daphnes had taken ill, and the responsibility of the kingdom ever grew upon her shoulders, until the crown passed to her, to be held in regency until she was ready to be queen. And then Daphnes had died.

She dabbed her eyes. She longed for his guiding hand, his wise words. Never had she known a man who was so destined to lead. He had been the perfect king, strong, stern when needed, wise beyond his teachings, beloved by noble and commoner alike.

It seemed this was something she shared with the soldier, Link. He too had lost his father, only more recently. She understood the depth of pain she had seen flashing in his eyes, she knew the agony of that loss. Small wonder that he threw himself so readily into his training. He sought to make his father proud, as she sought to make Daphnes proud.

She smiled, allowing her inner eye to linger on the memory of his face as they walked together through the castle. His arrogance, the assuredness of his swagger, the wry grin. All falling away as she chastised him for that very thing. And when he had hurried away, head down, like a kicked hound, she had felt almost guilty, and she had felt the strangest longing to call him back, to soothe his wounded pride, to give the reassurances her mother had never given her.

She shook herself. Such thoughts were unbecoming of a princess of the realm. The soldier had needed the hard lesson, to bring him in line. But there was no denying his talents. She rose from her sofa and returned to her study, trailing her fingers over the spines of her books, neatly ordered and carefully dusted. She pulled down a large, heavy tome and returned to her desk, letting it fall open. It was a book dedicated to the legend of the Triforce, written two hundred years ago, the information gathered from scraps of parchment and of stories passed from mouth to mouth. All told of the same thing.

One day, a Hero would arise to save the kingdom of Hyrule, as decreed by the Goddesses, Din, Nayru and Farore. He would bear the Triforce of Courage. When would he appear? Would he ever? He had not so far, when Hyrule’s need had been direst. Would it be in her lifetime, or would she have to make do with nothing more than superbly skilled swordsmen who were just that. Superb. But a man. Not a Hero. Not a legend.

Still. He was their best chance. If he learned to cool the fire in his heart, he could be the one chance they had at stopping the sorceress once and for all.

Zelda sighed and stared at the back of her hand. When would her own mark appear for her, if it ever did? Over the last few months, she had felt a tingle or a tickle there, like a spider scuttering across her skin. But when she looked, there was nothing. Her skin was unblemished and smooth. Perhaps her wishful thinking was making her imagine things.

She sighed again, and replaced the book. She let her eyes unfocus, trailing her hand along the spines of her private library. It was an old trick Impa had taught her. Clear her mind and let it float on an empty cloud. Her body would do the rest, guided by the Divines, unfettered by mortal thoughts. It was difficult. She had always struggled to rid herself of all thoughts and silence the chattering in her head, never managing to quiet it completely. The voice that spoke of all her duties to attend to, the reports to write, the meetings to arrange, the notes to read over, the research to do, the needs of her people, and the sorceress. Always, the sorceress lurked in her mind, a shapeless shadow.

Her father had seen her face. Zelda herself had not. It seemed that, though Aldrich had made exceptional progress with his scrying fairies, none could get close enough to her to get a clear picture of her features. The last battle, she had been nothing more than a black shape on a high balcony in the crystal orb, no bigger than a fingernail, before the unfortunate fairy was destroyed. But Zelda had felt as though the witch could see her, in that instant before the fairy was killed. The head turned, and the orb went black. Zelda had recoiled not from the shock of the fairy dying, but from an inexplicable sense of dread that pierced her very soul.

She shuddered and hugged herself. The echoes of that dread reverberated in her chest, making her shiver. She grimaced and continued along her shelves, trailing her hand, trying to force her mind into the state of calm she so desperately needed. It didn’t work. Thinking of the simple trick brought to mind another irritant. General Bothus had again petitioned her to ask Impa to teach the soldiers some of the Sheikah arts, to supplement their skills and bolster their abilities.

Zelda hadn’t even needed to consider the answer. Impa was resolute in her refusal to let any Sheikah secrets leave her tribe. They were too precious, she had said. It took time and dedication to understand the beauty of the arts, and only a Sheikah could teach. This was law. This was written. This was passed down. For a common man to sully the Sheikah teachings was to bring dishonour to the entire tribe. No matter how much Zelda wheedled, and begged, and even cried, no matter how passionately she argued that stronger soldiers would save them, no matter the strength of the tantrums she threw, Impa refused. And in time, Zelda understood.

Her fingers brushed the spine of a slim book. It was covered in not leather, but soft suede, coloured a fading sky blue. The edges were a little ragged, the spine a little battered, but Zelda smiled at it as she pulled it out.

“How did you get in here?” she murmured, and turned it over in her hands. It was a book of children’s stories, fables of royalty and the fae creatures, of monsters and the heroes that vanquished them. She ran a finger over the cover, the golden lettering worn. One of the few good memories that she had of her mother was because of this book. Sometimes, Queen Layla would deign to read her daughter to sleep, allowing the child to curl up next to her as she read her a story.

If Zelda had managed to please her, it would be a story of princesses and dragons, of handsome princes and brave knights. Of wicked hags defeated by a clever orphan, of wily foxes outsmarted by a quick-thinking rabbit. But if Queen Layla had a point to make, the story would be darker. And it would always be the same.

A chill crept down Zelda’s spine. Head bowed, she returned to her desk and sat, gripping the book. She laid it upon her desk and eased the cover open, the old pages crinkling. She turned the them, each displaying pictures of frolicking animals, of smiling people, of fearsome dragons and of handsome men holding the hands of beautiful women. Her heart began to race as she turned to the middle of the book.

The picture that greeted her was one that had given her nightmares as a child. A pair of green, feline eyes glaring out of a boiling tornado of smoke. The artist had perfectly rendered the coils so that they seemed to almost curl off the page, and the eyes... The eyes. They were painted with exquisite care, with almost loving detail, so realistic were they. No matter how she turned her head, the eyes seemed to follow her, latched onto her own, boring into her, glaring so intensely Zelda felt she could feel them inside her head.

She snapped the book shut and took a steadying breath. It was a picture, nothing more. A shadow of dread shivered across her shoulders, but she brushed it off. She was the princess of Hyrule. She would not be afraid of a children’s book.

She wrenched it open again and found the page, ignoring the picture of blackness and hate. She turned instead to the opposite page, where the title was displayed, not in the usual filigree of the other tales, but in simple, deliberate spikes.

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

_She came one day from lands unknown_

_To our fair land where love was sown_

_With foul intent to all unknown_

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

_There stood a Hero, tall and brave_

_Goodness in every thought he gave_

_He saved the stranger from her grave_

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

_He did not know, and could not see_

_The evil she was born to be_

_She used her power and trickery_

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

_He loved the princess, wise and true_

_Gold of hair, with eyes of blue_

_A beauty she could not compare to_

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

Zelda read on, her mouth dry. It told the tale of before The Fall. Why the sorceress had committed such destruction against them. As far as she knew, this was one of the truest accounts of what had happened in the before time. If legends were to be believed, her ancestor, the ancient Queen Zelda, the one who had lost her true love in The Fall, had penned this very tale. If it was so, then this was the most precious piece of history she could ever hope to have. But it was a legend. No doubt the person to come up with this rhyme had said the queen had written it to make it more popular. But still. She hoped. She felt a connection to her ancestor, one of the few who had survived the destruction when so many others perished.

Her survival was the reason Hyrule had been able to rebuild. Her survival meant that the blood of Hylia still ran in the royal veins. Her survival was the reason that she, Zelda, named for her every maternal ancestor, was alive today. She read on until the last paragraph, turning the pages, each accompanied by another frightening interpretation of shadow and green fire.

_But Hyrule survives, through toil and sweat_

_Rebuilding strong and better and yet_

_We must always remember, lest we forget_

_The Black Witch of the Dark Castle_

Zelda let out her breath and closed the book, pushing it away. How anyone could forget the horrors of The Fall was beyond her. They were still suffering for it. And how could they forget the Shadow Sorceress when her dark castle still crouched on Hyrule’s mighty borders, filled with scores of barbaric Myyr, breeding like cockroaches, attacking her people, stealing her resources?

She glared at the book. No one would ever forget. She _must_ be defeated! For centuries the people had suffered, but no more!

Zelda rose and strode about her study. She passed her bookshelves several times, but did not reach to take a book. She knew there would be no new information hidden between the pages. She clenched her fists and kicked over a footstool, snatching a handful of parchment and flinging it about the room. She conjured a crackle of energy between her palms and sent it jolting into the wall, where it peppered the paper with tiny scorch marks.

There was nothing new to be learned! Their history was lost! They knew nothing of the sorceress but fables and legends, passed by word of mouth, or from gabbled accounts from war-stricken soldiers. They knew nothing! Centuries, and still, they knew nothing!

Zelda screamed and pounded her fists on her desk, upsetting her ink bottle. If only she could find some shred of evidence, some secret, some tiny speck of intelligence that pointed her towards her victory, then that would be enough. But there was nothing. The sorceress was invulnerable. The sorceress was immortal. And if she sent her best soldier, if she sent Link to face her, no matter how hard he trained, he would _die_. And she could not bear the thought of it. She needed him.

Exhausted, she tottered to her sitting room and collapsed on the sofa. She _needed_ him to be the best. She _needed_ him to be the Hero of legend, though it was clear he was not. The Hero was just another fable, a title assigned to a man who performed great, but human deeds. The Triforce was just a fable, something for the common man to turn their hopes and prayers to when all else seemed lost.

But what other choice did she have? She had to throw whatever she could at the Shadow Sorceress, but she was not yet ready. It would be years before her army was large enough, well trained enough. And Link had yet to truly prove himself. If he disappointed her, if he let her down… it would not just be her that he failed. Though he did not know it, Zelda felt that the future of her kingdom rested on his shoulders, because she herself had placed it there.

If he failed, it would be her fault.


	9. Link

The covered wagon bumped over the uneven road, jostling the soldiers within it. There were five of them in total, and three were men Link had not yet met, but they were seasoned, older, two of the three sporting various scars. The fourth, Link had been delighted to discover, was Baldur.

“What’re you doing here?” Link asked, grasping his hand to haul him into the back of the wagon. “I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing?”

Baldur shrugged. “It was meant to be Denather,” he replied, plonking himself down at the back of the wagon, as far from the exit as he could get. Link sat opposite him. “But he lost a finger training with Dornan yesterday, he’s still getting patched up. Regis thought it was time for me to get back out here.”

Link winced. Accidents happened, but it was rare for a soldier to lose anything other than their pride in training. Briefly, he hoped Denather had not lost the digit because of his eagerness to show what he had learned in their nightly lessons after hours. Though if he had been fighting Dornan, he was perhaps not so surprised it had happened during training.

“Poor sod,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

“Mm.” Baldur glanced out the back of the wagon. A light rain was falling, pattering against the canvas that covered them. “The Myyrish are tricky bastards to fight. I much prefer guard duty, even if it’s a bit emasculating.” Baldur smiled and bumped Link’s shoulder with his own. “But I feel safer with you here, especially after all that advice you’ve given me. Plus, Gentrie’s leading.”

“Gentrie?”

“Yeah. He’s seen loads of action. He’s probably going to get knighted in the next few months. He’s a great leader. Listen to him, and this’ll go smoothly.”

Link waved a hand. “We’ll be fine.” He grinned. “We’re going to kill some Myyr!”

Gentrie himself soon arrived, with two others in tow. He was the only man of the trio who was not scarred. Link watched him closely as he climbed into the wagon, giving the younger soldiers a stiff nod. His lack of scars meant one of two things. He was skilled enough to avoid injury, or he let others do the fighting for him. Link narrowed his eyes. If he was the latter, then he would be the worst kind of leader.

He came back to himself as the wagon hit another bump in the road, jolting him back to the present. He eyed the men again. Baldur was hunched, staring at his hands. The two unknown soldiers were murmuring together, and Gentrie was staring out at the retreating land, grey and damp as the hours crawled by.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, his voice softer than Link had expected. He turned to the others as they stirred. “General Bothus has told me that the Myyr are camped in a small clearing, about a mile from the road. It’s an ideal position to hide their camp and still ambush travellers. They are about two miles south of Mennin Town, perfectly positioned to attack.”

“Have they?” Link asked. “Attacked?”

Gentrie looked at him. “Some thefts have been reported,” he said. “Some sheep slaughtered. No attacks on Hylians. Yet.”

Link grinned. “Then let’s stop that from happening.” He rested his hand on the sword at his hip.

Gentrie blinked slowly. “Yes. That’s why we’re going,” he said. The two older soldiers sniggered. Link made a face.

“How many of these camps have you eradicated?” he asked.

“Eight.”

“How many Myyr have you killed?”

“Fourteen or so.”

Link grinned again. He would beat that number.

Gentrie watched Link for a long moment, but when the young soldier did not speak again, he gave a slow nod.

“We will encircle the camp,” he said, holding up a hand. He spread his fingers and pointed. “We will enter the star formation. Rodan, you take the first point. Sim, you take the second. I shall take the third. Link, you take fourth, and Baldur, you take fifth.”

Link cast an uneasy look at his fellows. They were nodding, but he did not know what the star formation was. He thought back to his tactics classes, but was unable to conjure anything other than Untheridge striding up and down, bellowing for him to pay attention.

“I think I’d be better suited to first or second,” Baldur said. “I’d not be much good at stopping a retreat if they broke and ran.”

“You’ll have Link with you,” Gentrie replied. “If what I hear of him is true, he’ll stop any of them escaping.”

Link frowned. “I’ll be attacking them,” he said.

“You won’t,” Gentrie replied. There was no iron in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact, as though no other option existed. “You will stop any Myyr escaping with Baldur. Rodan, Sim and I will attack. You only join us if we require assistance.”

“And if you kill them all?” Link asked.

“Then our mission will be complete.” Gentrie did not even look at him this time. Link pressed his lips together and grimaced, glaring at their lead as he continued.

“The camp is small, about six Myyr, from what the scouts could see,” he said. “All male, all armoured, all armed. We must exercise caution. We will close the star and shepherd them towards the bottom points.” He glanced at Link. “Seeing as our newest member is so eager to whet his sword, he may get lucky.”

Link gave a tight smile that Gentrie did not return.

“Are we clear on the plan?”

The soldiers nodded. Link sat back and folded his arms as the men lapsed back into silence, glowering at nothing.

He was the best damn soldier in the entire army. He knew it. Bothus knew it. And surely this Gentrie knew it as well, it was no secret. So _why_ was he being made to hang back on the defence? He could slash through six measly Myyr in minutes. He flexed his hands. But on the defence, there was a chance that he wouldn’t even get to kill one of the monsters. The faces of his mother and sister flashed in his mind, and he clenched his fists, the leather gloves creaking. A hundred Myyr could die by his hand and it would hardly atone for what he had lost.

He had to avenge them. He had to make his father proud. He had to prove his worth to Zelda. He stole a look at Gentrie, still staring out the back of the wagon, the misting rain blurring the landscape. If he wouldn’t make use of their best asset, then fine. He’d sit and wait, and hope a Myyr broke away so he could slaughter it. But if he came away with his sword unbloodied… his frown deepened. It wasn’t fair.

The wagon finally rolled to a stop in the middle of nowhere. The soldiers disembarked, their leather armour creaking. They wore no steel, as it would be too loud. Link rested his hand on the pommel of his sword as Gentrie took off, leading them at a jog over the grassy plain and towards a thick copse of trees. They slowed as they neared the treeline, and lowered themselves as they entered.

Despite his frustration, Link felt excitement bubble up within him. This was finally it. He would do his duty, and show them all exactly how good he was, how wasted he was on the defense. And if he managed to kill any Myyr, maybe more than one… maybe even all of them, then Bothus would _have_ to see his potential was. A knighthood would be guaranteed.

After half an hour of creeping, Gentrie held up a hand. Silently, he pointed at Rodan and Sim, directing them to the left. He pointed at Baldur, who looked very pale, directing him to the right. He held Link’s gaze as he remained where he was, before raising a hand, palm outward.

“Get to the edge of the camp,” he whispered. “Remain hidden. Stay where you are unless I call for aid. If the Myyr break and run, only then can you reveal yourself. Stop any who try to escape.”

It seemed as though Gentrie knew that Link didn’t know what the star formation was. Link glowered and gave a curt nod, and Gentrie retreated, disappearing into the undergrowth. Link made a rude gesture at his back and dropped to his belly, inching forward. The undergrowth was thick and lush, full of the life of spring, peppered with droplets of water. The rain barely made it through the thick canopy above, but when it did, it fell in showers, spattering across the leaves and forest debris.

Link took a deep breath. He could hear movement. Low voices, sounding more like the grunting of hogs than any speech a Hylian would make. He bared his teeth and touched his sword again. He crept on as the sounds grew louder and reached out, pushing aside a fern.

His breath stopped in his throat. Never before had he been so close to the Myyrish monsters. Yet here they were, seated around a sullenly smoking campfire, a blackened pot slung over the hissing wood. Two crudely constructed tents slouched nearby, and between them, Link caught a glimpse of leather. He turned his eyes back to the Myyr.

Each of them was hulking, broad and brutish. Bigger than he had expected. Their skin was a dusky purple, as unnatural as their red, piggy eyes. Their noses were flat, their jaws jutting under heavy, sloping foreheads. One stirred the pot, its arms bare to the shoulder. Link eyed its bulging biceps, easily bigger than his head. He tightened his grip on his sword. Their armour was a mishmash of ill-fitting tin, steel and boiled leather, their weapons chipped axes and dented maces. One rose and picked up a bloody haunch, taking a bite of the raw meat it before dropping it into the pot.

They were so close. Mere metres from him. Link licked his lips, staring. So close. So close he could smell them, a sour, fetid stench, akin to old milk and manure and something else, something peculiar and evil.

These were the Shadow Sorceress’s foot soldiers. The minions of the Black Witch. Sent by her to terrorise Hylians and destroy all that they held dear, depleting their resources, wearing them down, hurting, killing, raping, pillaging. His grip on his sword became tighter. These evil creatures would soon attack the town of Mennin, and he knew all too well what they would do. Again, he saw his mother and sister, lying amid shattered wood and-

He shook himself. He could not think of it. Not now. Not now when he could finally have some small part of his vengeance. Not now when his future rested on the point of his sword.

He glanced across the clearing again. He could just make out the leather of his fellows amongst the green and brown undergrowth, almost invisible. He looked to the right. He could see Baldur through the thicket, watching the Myyr. Link turned back to them, hatred boiling under his prickling skin, the hairs on his arms and neck standing on end.

How long would he crouch here? How long could he kneel and wait for his victory to be stolen from him? He took a breath. He had to wait. He had to do his duty. A good soldier obeys. He would have other opportunities. He would have his chance again. And if he did his duty, perhaps next time he could lead the charge. Bothus had hinted at that. He breathed, trying to slow his heart, to cool the fire in his veins that pulsed with each beat of his heart.

The Myyr began to ladle bloody stew into rough bowls of wood and battered tin. Spoons clanked and mouths slurped, and Link curled his lip. Disgusting. Everything they did was disgusting. This band of uncultured, stupid cretins, so foul and twisted. Now would be the perfect time to attack, but where in the black pits was Gentrie? Why was he waiting? He had to attack! Now, when they were vulnerable, their guards down, their weapons lying discarded? _Why_ was he not attacking?

These creatures had no discipline. There was no watcher, no scout. Their weapons were lying in the dirt. They were snorting and farting and slurping their foul stew. It would be easy to dispatch them, if only Gentrie would give the fucking order!

One of the Myyr reached a thick fist into its pocket and drew out a rag, scrubbing its wide mouth and tossing it aside. The rag landed feet from Link. He stared at it.

It was not a rag.

It was a cloth doll with woollen hair. Bloodstained. Torn. Singed.

He tensed as his vision contracted. His hand found his sword, the rasp of steel against the metal guard almost unheard under the patter of rain. He readied himself. Caught Baldur’s eye. Baldur shook his head, his eyes pleading. Perhaps the girl who once owned the doll had pleaded with the Myyr that murdered her. Link bared his teeth, and exploded from his hiding place with a roar that shook the trees.

It all happened so fast. One moment, Link was flying across the clearing, sword raised, then sinking into the thick shoulder of the closest Myyr, and the next, chaos erupted. As the Myyr he had struck fell back, the others rose, their bowls suddenly projectiles, flung towards the lone Hylian. Moving faster than he had thought possible, the Myyr snatched up their weapons, and suddenly five, brutish monsters, seven feet tall and powerful, were bearing down on him.

Link didn’t hesitate. He yanked his sword back in a spray of blood and leapt forward, catching the other soldiers charging out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t need them. He could take these bastards alone. They had already killed. They had already murdered. A village, a family, a child, lying dead and defiled in unknown, unmarked graves.

His sword cut deep into the closest Myyr’s neck and stuck. Link yanked it out and leapt back, drawing a deep breath and sending his fury down his arms, through his legs, and into his mind.

The world slowed. The Myyr he had almost decapitated fell at half speed, an arterial spray arcing through the clearing, a hand going to the wound. The other four Myyr were turning to the soldiers, weapons raised. One of them, Sim, skidded on the wet leaves, losing his footing, falling, his face turning from purpose, to fear.

Link leapt to the Myyr that advanced upon him, cannoning into it and driving his sword deep into its back. It roared, the sound distorted as Link planted his feet and somersaulted away, ripping his blade with him, turning to his next target. But a blow caught his hip and he stumbled, spinning. A Myyr bore down on him as time sped back up, flying towards him at an ungodly speed. Spent from his exertion, Link fell back, scrambling through the wet grass. He would not be beaten so easily. He had trained for this.

He drew his knife from his boot and sent it spinning towards the Myyr. It jerked away, losing momentum, and Rodan leapt upon it, driving his sword between its ribs. Link flipped to his feet in time to see Gentrie dispatch a monster with a deliberate strike, watching icily as the Myyr fell to its knees and slumped to the side. Link snarled as he saw the last Myyr pelting away, crashing through the undergrowth and vanishing.

As silence fell upon the clearing, Gentrie turned to Link, his eyes blazing.

“You fool,” he said, his soft voice sharp as shattered ice. “You deliberately went against my orders.”

“Your orders were shite,” Link bit back, his blood still hot. He had only killed three Myyr. It wasn’t enough! “You waited too long to attack. And you put _me_ on the defensive! I could have taken them all.”

“But you didn’t,” Gentrie said, striding over until he was nose to nose with Link. "You have never faced Myyr before. You have never seen their strength, nor their speed. You underestimated them. It is a miracle you survived." His grey eyes bored into his own, but Link stared right back. “You fool,” he said again. “This is your fault. One got away.”

“It’s just one,” Link spat.

“Just one that will relay our movements to the sorceress!” Gentrie almost raised his voice.

“It’ll be caught.” Link gave a derisive shrug. “And what’s wrong with completing a successful mission? Five dead Myyr? None of us hurt?”

“None of us?” Gentrie said, his voice cold. He raised a deliberate arm and pointed. Glaring, Link looked away from the older soldier and followed his arm, along the hand, the finger, and down to the ground, where Baldur lay. His chest was caved in, and his glassy eyes reflected a sky that he would never see again.

XXXXXXX

Link did not speak during the ride back to the palace. He did not say a word as Baldur’s body was lifted into the wagon. He said nothing as he sat at the back, staring into Baldur’s face, the skin already greying, his lips parted, unmoving. Lifeless. Dead.

He was cold. It was not the rain that dampened his clothes and chilled his skin. It was not the wind that hissed under the canvas and bit at him. It was not the furious glares the other soldiers threw his way. The cold came from within him. It was his fault. He had been the one to break ranks, because he thought he knew better. He had been the one to charge, because he did not trust in an experienced soldier’s words. He had been the one to take matters into his own hands, because of what? Jealousy? Impatience? Arrogance?

Baldur was dead because of him.

If he hadn’t taken the charge, if he had just done as he was told and waited, then maybe Baldur would be alive now, alive to go home with them, to eat, perhaps share in an ale, and celebrate. Five more Myyr dead. It should have been a victory. It should have been a reason to go back to Lou’s bar. It should have been the success that sent him on his way to knighthood.

Not that that mattered any more. He had failed. What kind of a knight would he be if he made the decisions that he did? What use was his skill if he could not protect his friends? Baldur was his friend. His only friend. Now he was dead. Like his father. Like his mother. Like little Bree.

There was nothing inside him but cold. He was hollow. He was empty. He was a failure.

When the wagon wheels began to roll over pavement instead of cobbles and dirt, when the landscape out the back became buildings and not green fields and trees, only then did Link feel a flutter of something in his chest. He would be stripped of his rank for this. No longer would he be a soldier. And he deserved it. He deserved worse. He should be dead, not Baldur. Baldur, who was sweet on that redheaded girl they’d met in Lou’s bar. The homely one with gapped teeth, not the beauty with black hair and skin like fresh cream. Baldur had seen her thrice since then. Had it been serious? He’d never asked. How could he tell her the sweet, gentle soldier was dead? Should he tell her?

What did it matter? Baldur was gone. And it was his fault.

The wagon creaked to a stop at last.

“Stay here,” Gentrie said. Link didn’t respond. He was still fixed on Baldur’s grey face. His eyes were closed now. He might have been sleeping, were it not for the pallor of his skin, the unnatural stillness of his body. No sleeping man had ever lain so still.

The wagon rocked as Gentrie and the others dismounted, their footsteps fading away. Before long, three maids in white robes and veils arrived to take Baldur away. Priestesses of Hylia, they would oversee the preparation of his body before burial. Had Baldur had a family? Would they want to see him before he was laid to rest? Yes, he had mentioned his mother. Alone since his father had died of the pox when he was a boy. No siblings. He had said. Who would care for his mother now?

And at last, alone in the wagon, the tears came. Silently, without hesitation, they spilled from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Gentrie had been right. He was a fool. A fool undeserving of the honour of a knighthood. Undeserving to be a soldier. Too arrogant and cocksure to be worth anything more than a drunkard in a tavern, a sot in the streets. He had failed them all. Himself, Bothus, the princess. His parents. His sister. He had failed them all.

The wagon rocked as someone climbed in. Link put his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He did not want to look up. He did not want to see who had come to tell him he was to be imprisoned and banished. He just wanted it done. He wanted to be alone with his grief.

“Death is a part of life,” a gruff voice said. Link winced. It was General Bothus. “A soldier understands this. It is the price we all pay in service to her Highness.”

Link didn’t reply, but he took a deep breath. He could not let the General see him in such a state. If he was to retain any shred of dignity, any ounce of pride, he must control himself.

“Gentrie told me what happened,” Bothus continued. “But I would like to hear your version.”

Link swallowed and raised his head, keeping his face turned from the general and trying to surreptitiously wipe his eyes.

“Gentrie probably has the right of it,” he said, his voice thick. “I failed in my duty.”

“That much is clear,” Bothus said, his tone hard. “Explain yourself.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Link said, still staring at the canvas and wood of the wagon. “I failed in my duty.”

“I gave you an order,” Bothus said. “I do not care for any self-pitying crap. Give me facts.”

Link clenched his jaw.

“I broke ranks,” he said. “I thought Gentrie’s method was ineffective. I went my own way. And Baldur died because of it. I left my defensive post and killed three Myyr because I thought I knew better. This is my fault. I accept that and whatever punishment fits my disobedience.”

Bothus was silent a long and uncomfortable minute.

“That supports Gentrie’s story,” he said. “But he did not say you killed three Myyr. By yourself?”

Link nodded, staring at the floor.

Bothus sighed.

“Link, I should not have to tell you that what you did is insubordination of a most serious nature. You ignored commands from your lead, you took matters into your own hands, and a man died because of it.” The wagon rocked as Bothus came to sit opposite him. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Link raised his head and met the general’s eye.

“Under usual circumstances, you would be imprisoned for no less than six months and assigned nothing but guard duty for two years,” Bothus said. “The only way you could have fucked this up more is if you openly defied myself or the princess.”

Link bowed his head again.

“But,” Bothus continued. “I have other factors to consider. Gentrie tells me the battle was over in minutes. You killed _three_ Myyr in that time, and confused and maimed the remaining ones enough to allow for swift slaughter by the other men. That is no mean feat. Your mettle was tested today, and though your actions led to the death of this poor sod-“

“Baldur,” Link snapped. He clenched his fists and willed the storm in his mind to calm. “His name was Baldur. Ser.”

Bothus said nothing for a moment.

“Baldur,” he said, softly. “I understand he was your friend. I believe you have learned a valuable lesson from this, no?”

“I’ve learned I don’t deserve to be a soldier,” Link muttered, his misery welling once more. Bothus reached out and slapped the side of his head with enough force to make his ears ring. Link snapped back with an oath, his hand going automatically to his sword. Bothus didn’t blink.

“I told you I want none of your self-pitying crap,” he said. “Your actions have consequences. I warned you about your arrogance, as did the princess. I hope you have now learned what we were trying to teach.”

“I…” Link stared. “Six months imprisonment. Two years of guard duty. I understand the consequences.”

Bothus rose. “No. You have continued to demonstrate a talent we had never dared to hope would come to our army. Three Myyr in as many minutes? Your skill continues to astound. But mark me.” He bent at the waist and pushed his nose to Link’s. “I will have no more failure from you. You will do as you are told. You will learn from your betters. You will learn from this. And then, maybe, we will see if you are fit to fight Myyr again. You have lost my trust, boy. You must earn it back.”

Bothus straightened as much as he could in the wagon and departed. As he stepped down, Link called after him.

“What about my punishment?”

Bothus stopped, but did not turn.

“I think what is to come will be punishment enough,” he said. And he left.

Alone once more, Link lowered his head. His eyes were hot and dry, and though he felt he needed to cry more, the tears would not come, no matter how he willed them. He took a breath and sent his grief through his arms, his legs, and into his mind. The wagon suddenly seemed to be thrown into sharper relief, the sounds of the courtyard outside distorted and slow. How long could he hold this energy? How long would it take before he exhausted himself beyond repair? Could he push himself harder, and make up for what he had lost? Could he hold it until his heart gave out? Could he send this energy to the void and bring back an innocent man? He closed his eyes as his heart began to race, and sweat beaded his brow.

With a gasp, everything returned to normal. Link pressed a hand to his chest, panting, the old dizziness he had not felt in months rising with the bile in his throat. He could serve no one if he was dead. He could not atone for his mistake if he was not here to do so. He could not serve the princess or Hyrule if he was gone.

He clasped his hands and hung his head. He had to be better. If he was to avenge his family, and now Baldur, and the countless others who had lost lives, livelihoods and loved ones to the Myyr and the Black Witch of the Dark Castle, he had to be better. He raised his eyes and glared at the pale canvas before him. He _would_ be better. He would be the best Hyrule had ever seen. But no longer for himself. It would be for them.

For them.


	10. Thoria

Far from Hyrule Palace, the dark castle crouched on the borders of the kingdom. Nestled against a gigantic mountain, it seemed to grow from the very rock itself, a mass of living stone, shining and sharp and blacker than the night sky. The drawbridge was raised, the portcullis locked tight. The walls were high and severe, encircling the dark castle in an ebony embrace. Before the walls a chasm yawned, half a league deep and lined with rock so sharp it could slice a falling hair. The rising sun crashed against the black stone, which seemed to absorb the light.

On the ramparts, Myyr patrolled, armed with bows and spears. They did not speak to each other as they marched a deliberate pace, casting their red eyes over the barren land below them. A few ravens circled overhead, hoping that the feast would return, a hundred or more bodies lying in the dirt for them to eat. But no such bounty had been gifted for a long time. As with all scavengers, patience was a part of their very souls, and so they circled, waiting, waiting.

Past the walls of the dark castle’s fortifications lay a gigantic courtyard, bare of decoration and vegetation. Here there were more Myyr, patrolling and standing guard. It was almost silent, save for the wind that crawled along the black path, pushing curls of grey dust from the flat earth along the ground. Over the whispering wind, the faint sound of hooves grew on the air.

A Myyr leaned over the ramparts and barked a harsh word. Two more took a great iron crank and began to turn it, raising the portcullis. Another took a lever and pushed it down, his muscles bulging under his black armour, his tabard a blood red. The drawbridge lowered and landed with a crash. With a clatter of hooves, a black war horse cantered across the bridge and into the courtyard, its rider reining it in as they entered. The drawbridge was pulled up, and the portcullis released to slide back into the ground with barely a sound.

The rider was hooded and cloaked in black, a travel pack strapped to their shoulders. They dismounted, handing their horse to a younger Myyr. Their cloak swirled, catching on a longsword strapped to their hip. They trotted towards the castle, lowering their hood as they went.

General Morthol of the Myyr strode through the dark castle, paying no attention to the surprisingly bright interior, the sweeping corridors, the high ceilings, the exquisite carvings and paintings along the walls. His feet were muffled by red carpet, trimmed in gold. Those Myyr he passed inclined their heads, pressing a flat palm to their breast as he went. He responded with a stiff nod, and never slowed his pace.

He climbed seven flights of grand, gracefully curving stairs before reaching the tower. Pausing only a moment to draw breath, he ascended the last staircase, straight and steep. The doors he came to were almost as large as the entrance to the castle, wrought of dark mahogany. He knocked, and entered, the doors opening at the gentlest push.

The room inside was vast and open, carpeted in red and finished in gold. A fireplace sat empty before a suite of plush armchairs and sofas, and the walls were lined with innumerable books, exquisite paintings and sketches. A desk sat by a large, arched window, next to another door that led to a balcony. But General Morthol had eyes only for the enormous bed, and the figure that lay beneath the covers.

“My lady,” he said, his voice scratchy and accented by the harsh consonants of the Myyrish tongue. “I have returned.”

The covers stirred, and the Black Witch of the Dark Castle sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Morthol,” she swung her pale feet over the side of the bed and rose, a mantle of shadows rushing about her figure to form a garment in the shape of a dressing gown. “I had not expected you back so soon.” She stifled another yawn. Her eyes roved over the figure before her. He was shorter than most Myyr, barely a head taller than a Hylian, and he was slender with it. Under his travelling cloak he wore a coal-black breastplate, both of which he removed, along with his travel pack. Underneath was a velvety, black tunic, split with a sash of red that ran shoulder to hip, striped with three golden ropes at the shoulder. His armour was marked in the same fashion.

“Was your mission a success?” the sorceress asked, touching her tousled hair. As her fingers brushed the inky bramble, it smoothed, running in gentle, thick waves to the middle of her back. She indicated the sofas and they moved towards them. The sorceress watched her general carefully as he lowered himself into a seat.

“I am sorry to say that it was not,” he said, his voice grave. “I tried to convince them, my lady, but the clan would not be moved.”

The sorceress gave the softest sigh, and with it, a teapot and cups materialised, pouring for them both. Morthol did not blink as he took his cup from the air and sipped. “Thoria,” he said. “I fear that this exercise is fruitless. Out of every ten clans I reach out to, barely one of them hear my words, let alone consider to join your cause. They prefer to remain under their own rule.”

The sorceress, Thoria, watched him over the rim of her own cup, a curl of steam rising into the air. “It is not fruitless if your words are heard,” she said. “We must keep trying. I would see every Myyr in the realm under my rule.”

Morthol gave a stiff nod. “When my scouts return I will receive their reports. Hopefully they have had more success than I.”

Thoria imitated his nod and settled back in her chair. For almost two centuries, she had sought to bring the Myyr together, to reside with her in her castle. Over those years, she had seen them flourish, her castle growing, expanding, as more and more joined her cause. Now there remained only rogue clans, those holding most stubbornly to their traditions, reluctant to cast in their lot with her and live under a single roof, most likely living with clans they had once warred with. It was a difficult task.

“I believe you will succeed,” she said, watching her general as he sipped his tea, straight backed and proud. Though Morthol was not as hulking nor brutish as most of her army, he had the sharpest mind she had ever known in a Myyr. His knowledge of their culture was invaluable, his war tactics elegant and intuitive, able to conjure fresh ideas, to think outside the box. And always, his mind was on their people, the welfare of the Myyr.

“I would hope,” he replied. “Once I have my reports, we shall plan our next move.”

Thoria nodded and rose, her cup vanishing into the air. Morthol drained his tea and set his cup down, where it too vanished as if it had never been.

“I would meet with you tomorrow,” Thoria said. “I would go over our recent battles, and plan for the next, inevitable fight, whenever that may be.” Morthol gave a deep bow from the waist, clenching his fist and thumping it solidly against his chest, over his heart. He gathered his cloak, pack and breastplate, and departed.

As the door clicked shut, Thoria drew a long, slow breath, releasing it for almost a full minute. She stretched her arms, then began to bend and weave, working her way through a series of complicated stretches that a contortionist would envy. After an hour, she rose, a light sweat on her brow, and moved for her bathroom, a grand thing of grey slate and star-scattered marble. She made a careless motion with her hand, and her bathtub was filled with steaming water. She climbed in, her shadowy gown dispelling, and leant back, closing her eyes.

She let her mind go blank, meditating as she floated, thinking of nothing. The feeling of hot water against her skin touched her mind, was accepted, and passed over. The freshness of the summer air was noticed, but not dwelled upon. The weight of her hair was not considered as she lay. Her mind was an ancient cavern, empty of everything.

Half an hour passed as such. Her mind clear, Thoria rose, her ivory skin steaming as the water faded from the tub. Dry in an instant, she stepped onto the cool stone, weaving shadows about her figure once more to form an elegant dress that flared at the hem, moving in the absence of wind, as though alive. She toyed with the shape of it before settling on a long-sleeved gown that bared her throat and shoulders. She touched her neck, considering a necklace, and decided against it.

The only jewellery she had ever worn was a simple ring of gold and emerald. She raised her left hand and observed it impassively. It was a pretty thing, and old. Easily as old as she was, if not older. She had worn it for as long as she could remember, though she could not remember from whence it came.

She lowered her hand, and spared the ring no more thought. She strode to her doors and they opened before her, revealing the carpeted stairs. She went down, mulling over the day ahead. She rarely had plans, but she rarely needed them. If enough Myyr wished to speak with her, she would hear their words. Hell, if only one Myyr wanted her advice, she would find the time for them, no matter how small their concern may be. If her people were content, she might walk the grounds awhile, lend assistance where it was needed, or find esteemed members of her council to speak with, gathering information on her castle, and how it was faring.

Reaching the landing of the seventh floor, Thoria grew tired of the stairs and pitched herself over the railing, falling four floors before catching herself and floating the rest of the way to the ground, landing lightly on the obsidian with barely a sound. A child, no doubt on his way to school, gave an admiring gasp. Thoria smiled, and approached. The child’s mother inclined her head, pressing her fist to her chest. Suddenly shy, the child ducked behind his mother, peeping out from behind her leathery skirt.

“Come now,” the woman rumbled. “You are a strong boy, you have no fear.”

“It’s alright,” Thoria said. She closed her hand and crouched, coming eye to eye with the boy. She opened her fist, and a bright sweet lay on her palm.

“Bravery comes in many forms,” she said. “Listen to your mother, and you will find yours.”

The boy took the sweet with a gap toothed grin, and bounded away, skipping towards the class halls.

“A fine child,” Thoria said. The mother bowed again. “I am sure he will grow to rival his father in strength and size.”

“That is my hope. My lady.” The woman nodded and moved away, bustling after her son. Thoria’s half-smile faded as they rounded a corner, and she turned to stare at the wall, an expanse of blank, black stone. She twitched an eyebrow, and a canvas appeared, painted with exquisite detail. It showed a landscape in twilight, the moon rising over blue and purple lands that no being in Hyrule had ever seen. Thoria tilted her head, added a couple more stars for the heck of it, and moved away.

She sent a pulse through the castle, an invitation for any Myyr with concerns to join her in the throne room. She ducked under a tapestry and into a narrow tunnel, hurrying along and pushing a painting aside at the other end, a smile touching her lips. Her secret passages were spiderwebbed through the castle, and not even her Myyr knew about them. They were her own, private joy. She was close to her destination, and she could feel the bustle of several bodies heading her way. She slipped into the throne room via a small door disguised as stone wall, the vast chamber empty and echoing.

She grimaced. She had little cause to care for the regality of the throne she had wrought for herself. She would much prefer to sit at a table with her subjects, on their level, seeing eye to eye. But the Myyrish appreciated the symbolism, the clear divide between leader and clan, even if her way of rule was different to their own. Her discomfort meant nothing if it meant her Myyr felt more at ease, and she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it just the smallest amount in the past.

Thoria stepped to the throne, a vast, severe thing wrought of onyx with a high back. The edges were spiked and jagged, and it had the appearance of a thousand, sharp spears of blackened steel melted together to form a chair. It was reminiscent of something, but she could never quite remember what. She sat, and crossed an elegant knee over the other, resting her wrists on the arms of the throne, leaning back and observing her throne room. The ceiling was high and vaulted, held up by intricately carved columns. For its size and windowless exterior, it was bright, and warm, lit by unidentifiable sources that cast a rosy and comforting glow about the black hall, making it feel lighter and brighter than it actually was.

Briefly, Thoria wondered if black really was the right choice for the interior of her castle, and considered remodelling.

The first of the Myyr trickled into the chamber, bowing as they approached, clustering at the foot of the steps before her throne. They each closed their fist and pressed it to their heart, some thumping enthusiastically. Thoria smiled at them, raising her chin to expose her long, pale throat.

She pointed at a burly Myyr, armoured in tin and leather. “What assistance may I give?”

“Dispute,” he grunted. He jerked his head at the Myyr next to him. “I say he gave offence. He said he didn’t, ‘n I offended him by saying. We seek permission to battle.”

Thoria nodded. It was the Myyrish way. Almost everything was settled by fighting. Disputes, rights to a wife, rights to a husband, everything from blood-feuds to a stubbed toe was settled with a battle. It had come as quite a shock, long ago, to find her subjects scrapping in every corner of the castle, filling it with roars, grunts, sprays of blood and broken teeth. She had long since decided such clamour would not do.

“You have my permission,” she said. “For such a minor disagreement, I will allow hand-to-hand combat only. Do not seek to kill. Arrange a time in the Pits with Castar.”

“Thank’yar,” the Myyr growled, bowing once more. His companion mirrored his gesture and the two retreated, walking side by side, grunting and laughing. Thoria watched them go. Even after two hundred years, their customs still seemed strange. There had been offence given and taken, and yet there they went, chatting together like brothers. Their dispute would be settled by the fist, and once a victor was declared, there would be no more spoken of it. If only all problems were so easily resolved.

Thoria nodded at an older Myyrish woman, scarred and proud. She stepped forward.

“I feel my time is approaching, my lady,” she said. “I would ask to go out into the world and seek an honourable death.”

Thora tilted her head. “You are in your sixth decade?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“You are still young. Why do you ask this of me?”

“I feel a sickness in my bones. I know that my time is marching on swift feet.”

Thoria gave a solemn nod. “And if I offered you care in our medical wing?”

“I would not take it,” the woman said. Her thick braid was greying, and her muscles stood out as she folded her arms. But Thoria could sense it, a creeping slowness settling in her limbs, growing in her lungs. She had the means to help her. She had spent decades building the medical wing of the castle, training her doctors, her scientists researching medicine. Thoria laced her fingers together. If only she could heal as well as her medics could.

“I would ask that you remain here for a year to think about your options,” Thoria said. “Your family, your legacy, and how you would seek your death. Come back to me in a year, and we shall revaluate.”

“I wish for my death now,” the woman said, her scratchy voice becoming more accented as her temper took. “Who are you to deny me?”

Thoria rose from her throne, and the Myyr took a collective step back. She descended the steps until she was eye to eye with the elder woman, though the Myyr stood a foot taller.

“Your diagnosis was recent,” Thoria said, her voice soft. “And terminal. I understand your needs. Let us compromise on six months. If you still feel you would seek death in battle, instead of healing and a longer life, then it shall be so. But do not let your heart rule your head. You have grandchildren to teach the meaning of strength to, and your lessons would be invaluable.”

Mollified, the woman stepped back. “If my body is not strong enough to survive alone, I shall bear my failing with honour. Your words are wise, though I do not like to hear them.”

“Few like a stern truth,” Thoria said. “But I prefer it to a gentle lie.” The elder woman bowed and retreated, as Thoria called the next forward.

XXXXXXX

Thoria awoke the next morning to a sense of trepidation. She rose, weaving her shadows about her, and went to her balcony, her hair still tangled, a night of sleep resting at the corners of her eyes. Stepping into the cool dawn, she approached the balustrade and leant upon it, her hands almost white against the black. A lone horse was trotting toward the gate, the rider slumped in the saddle. Leagues away, Thoria saw the arrows protruding from the Myyr’s back.

“Open the gate,” she said, her voice echoing down to the courtyard. The guards, no bigger than ants, jumped to obey. Thoria leapt from the balcony, soaring to the ground in a cloud of smoke and shadow, billowing behind her. She landed as the gate was cranked open and the drawbridge lowered. The horse trotted forth, the Myyr slumping to the side, slipping out of the saddle. He was caught by two guards and laid to the floor.

“ _Dùisg,_ ” Thoria said, touching the Myyr’s brow. His eyes fluttered and opened, focusing on her.

“My lady,” he said, his voice strained.

“You are one of Morthol’s scouts,” she said. His face twitched. “Were you attacked by a clan?” her skin prickled. It was common for clans of Myyr to pick fights with one another for territory, food, wealth, or sometimes just for the sake of it.

The Myyr managed a harsh chuckle. “No, my lady. I never… never made it to a camp.”

Thoria stared down at him. “Explain.”

“I was travelling,” he said. “I was ambushed.”

“By?”

“Hylian soldiers,” he spat. “Filthy vermin. Barely… made it back to my horse.”

“Where?”

“About thirty miles south,” he raised a sluggish hand and waved, before it dropped back to his side. “I hope my death is honourable enough for the Old Gods.”

“You will not die this day,” Thoria declared. She reached for her power and forced a sliver of magic into the Myyr. She eyed his wounds. The trickle of blood had only lessened a small amount. She cursed under her breath. She could not have him die because of the Hylians.

“Take him to the medics,” she ordered to the nearest Myyr.

Two guards hefted him, half carrying, half dragging the wounded Myyr towards the castle. Thoria watched them go, a frown deepening on her brow. If only there was more she could do.

Her frown turned to the arch, where the drawbridge was already rising, the portcullis lowering. Hylians did this. As if they didn’t have enough to deal with.

“Fucking bastards,” she muttered.

Thoria took a slow, calming breath, allowing her anger to bleed out of her body and into the air. She rose, becoming weightless, and floated back to her balcony. She indulged in her morning stretches and scalding bath before gliding two floors down and entering what her general had lovingly dubbed the ‘War Room.’

General Morthol was already there, gazing at a map of Hyrule painted on one of the walls. He did not turn as Thoria closed the door behind her, but he cocked his head, showing his profile over his shoulder. Thoria approached, standing beside him as he returned his attention to the map. He was taller than she, but it always seemed as though they were on a level with one another.

“I heard about my scout,” he said. “Attacked by Hylians.”

“So it would appear,” Thoria replied. “I believe he will make a full recovery. His wounds, while serious, were not life-threatening. You Myyr are made of tough stuff.”

Morthol gave a gentle huff of laughter. “We are. How else were we to survive in a world turned against us?”

Thoria smiled at him and moved away, seating herself at the circular table in the centre of the room. This, and her council table had been fashioned after an unknown legend, lauding all men, or Myyr, equal to one another. She felt it rather fitting. A sorceress she may be, but she did not want the divide between her and her Myyr to be any greater than it had to be.

“Tea?” she asked. “Water? Wine?”

“Something stronger, if it troubles you none,” Morthol replied, joining her at the table. “I find myself sickened by the morning’s events. I visited him in the medical wing. The doctors say he will recover within the week.”

“Excellent,” Thoria conjured two glasses full of a generous measure of whisky. Passing one to Morthol, she raised her own, and they clinked the crystal together.

“To a speedy recovery,” she said.

“And a swift victory,” Morthol replied.

They sipped the liquor in silence a moment. Thoria could feel the tension in the air, as intangible as mist, as taut as a stretched rubber band.

“Speak your thoughts,” she said, softly. “I feel them. I would hear them.”

Morthol took another sip of whisky before replying.

“My thoughts are the same as they have been, these thirty years in your service,” he said. “And they are brought forth by the morning’s events. We _must_ do something about these Hylians.”

Thoria observed her general calmly, her face carefully composed.

“We do,” she said. “When they assault my home, your home, _our_ home, we pay them in kind. We defend what is rightfully ours. We repay the blood debt owed to us, and rebuff their pathetic advances.”

Morthol pursed his lips.

“Thoria,” Morthol said. “It is one thing when their armies assault the castle. It is quite another when they attack a lone Myyr on the road.”

“I agree,” Thoria said. “Their attacks on the rogue camps appear to have increased. It is… unseemly.”

“Unseemly?” Morthol set his glass down with a thunk. “Thoria. It is abhorrent. They attack us without cause, without reason, seeking us out and hunting us down like vermin.”

“Is it without cause?” Thoria sighed. “We have had this discussion many a time, Morthol. Your people have a long history of violence.”

“We had to fight to survive,” Morthol growled. “And still it seems to be the case. The clans stay out of the way of Hylian scum, living as peacefully as they can, and still they are attacked, sought out, murdered for simply being Myyrish!”

Thoria raised a hand. “I am aware. And I find it repulsive. But this is why I have tasked you with bringing the clans under my protection. They would not accept my envoy. Best the message comes from a fellow Myyr.”

“But it is not going well,” Morthol grumbled. “They do not trust. They ask why, if you are to protect us, why the Hylian plague is still rampant in this land?”

Thoria sighed. “They are not a plague,” she said. “They are simply misguided.”

“Misguided?” Morthol made a face. “They slaughter us. They have hunted us for generations!”

“And you have done the same,” Thoria said. “Morthol, please. We have discussed this far too often. No different outcome will rise from repeating old arguments.”

Morthol shook his head. “We suffered an assault barely a year ago,” he growled. “Tell me, Thoria. Why do we not take the initiative? Why do we wait here, hiding behind walls of stone and magic, when we could bring the fight to them? Why do we not pre-empt another attack, and strike their very core? Why do we not assault the palace? Their numbers will not have recovered, now would be the perfect time to strike, and end this threat to us once and for all!”

Thoria sat back and looked him full in the face. His red eyes were bright and full of conviction, leaning forward over the table, gripping his glass as tightly as he might a sword.

“No,” she said.

Morthol blinked. “What?”

“Forgive me, I don’t recall stuttering.” Thoria straightened. “They already attack us unprovoked, let us not give them a reason.”

“Precisely, they attack us _unprovoked_ ,” Morthol said. “And they have done so for decades.”

“Just over a century and a half now, by my count.”

“Over a century! Thoria, they will not stop. We need to eliminate them, once and for all. Enough of your people, my people, have died needlessly by their hands. It is an affront to the Old Gods that we do not pay them in kind!”

Thoria sighed.

“Morthol, I have no doubts that your heart is in the right place. The suffering you all have endured is appalling, for no reason other than that you are different from them. You came from a distant clan not forty years ago, did you not? More war is not the answer.”

Morthol’s jaw tightened. “There _is_ no other answer. We do not provoke them. Of course, there are rogue bands who raid villages for provisions, but they are justified! The Hylians attack us on sight, they hunt us down, burn our villages, murder our children! Who won’t you end this threat once and for all? You have the power!”

Thoria folded her hands in her lap.

“Yes, I have the power.”

“Then why don’t you?” Morthol thumped the table. “Thirty years, Thoria, and still you let that vermin live!”

“Thirty years you have been in my service,” Thoria said. “And I have been alive far longer. Genocide is not the answer.”

Morthol’s eyes went hard.

“My lady,” he said, coolly. “You will not destroy them, and you will not broker peace with them. You allow them to march on us, each and every time. Why is this?”

Thoria sighed.

“Morthol, you are my most trusted advisor. You are wise, and an excellent strategist. Can’t you see why I forbade violence without merit?”

“No,” Morthol said. “I only see the suffering of our people that could be prevented.”

Thoria stiffened.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said, as the room darkened. “I would think that statement was accusatory.”

Morthol held her gaze.

“It is not, but I do not understand why you allow it, my lady.”

The room remained dark as Thoria sat in silence. Morthol did not move, nor speak. Finally, Thoria stirred.

“Our people have suffered at their hands, and wish for vengeance,” she said. “I cannot allow them to raid the Hylians, for that would give them true cause to hate us, and lend credence to their bigotry. The only way our people can get their vengeance is by meeting them in the battles the Hylians start. As well as this, I will not commit genocide. Not again. It serves no purpose and solves nothing. The Hylians have as much right to this land as we do.”

“Then why not broker peace? Much as it is a ridiculous notion.”

“Because any Myyr I send in envoy would be treated with suspicion and refused entry at best, and murdered at worst. I have no human allies to send. You know as well as I do that, with all my power, I cannot force a mind to think and act in a way unnatural to it. And they will not meet with me, they are too afraid.” Thoria chuckled. “Have you heard what they say? ‘ _Should the Sorceress come down from her lair, she will bring destruction on us all_.’” She laughed again. “Even if I disguise myself, if I said I was an envoy of the Black Witch, I would be cast out. No, Morthol. Though discussion and diplomacy is the true way forward, this is the only solution we have for now.”

“My lady, you are wrong,” Morthol said. His fists were clenched, trembling upon the table top. “The Hylians seek nothing more than to wipe us all out. It is all well for you, you are a being of unimaginable power,” his lip twitched. “You have no idea what it is like for us lesser mortals, especially those persecuted, simply because we are different.”

Thoria was quiet a moment.

“I won’t pretend to understand your persecution,” she said. “But I do understand it in my own way. And you are all under my protection. I will not allow harm to come to you within these walls.”

“But harm does come to us,” Morthol snapped. “Hylians hunt and kill us, and march on us like they did a year ago! How many of us do you think died in the last battle?”

“Two hundred and seventeen,” Thoria said. “I am aware of the wellbeing of my subjects, Morthol. The Myyr who went to battle went in full knowledge that some would die.”

“And yet you will not eliminate the cause of our suffering!” Morthol slammed his fists on the table. Thoria went very still, and then rose. Morthol paled. As Thoria stepped away from the table, he jumped out of his chair and backed away.

“Calm yourself. I will not harm you,” Thoria said, raising a hand. “And I hear your concerns. But I will not murder people, nor allow you to, because of a feud of centuries. It will serve no purpose but to make things worse if I do. We must be better than them.”

With that, she strode away from the table. At the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“I would ask that you continue to reach out to the rogue clans of Myyr,” she said. “Part of the reason that the Hylians attack us is because of their actions, their pillaging of Hylian settlements. If we are to end this war, peacefully, then we must ensure we do not encourage violence.”

“It will be done,” Morthol said, his jaw working as though he was chewing a tough bite of meat. “I fear force may be necessary.”

“Force is never necessary. You can present a convincing argument, Morthol, it is one of your many talents. If we can stop these ridiculous raids and unite together, peace will follow. Eventually.”

Morthol nodded, his jaw set. “This way is unnatural to the Myyrish tradition. Will you not consider striking at their heart? To end this plague upon us?”

Thoria turned fully to him, and her eyes began to burn.

“No,” she said, and strode from the chamber.

In the corridor, Thoria shook out her hair. She crouched, and leapt into the air, barrelling through an open window and flying in a gust of smoke and shadow up to the roof of her castle. Here she sat, and put her head in her hands, cursing in a stunningly fluent stream, with the elegance of one who has practiced the art of swearing for centuries.

A year had passed, yet it seemed to her that the stink of battle was still thick in the air. She clenched her fists and tried to still her breathing. Morthol was justified in his anger, but his hatred of the Hylians would be his undoing. For these wars to end, both sides must stop fighting, but she could not, and would not if she could, control the minds of Myyr and man to achieve her goals.

She sighed, and sat back. The sun was setting, and it cast beautiful washes of pink and gold across the sky. Thoria smiled with half her mouth. Even amongst all this death and anger, there was still beauty to behold. If only the other beings of this realm could see it.

Rising, Thoria brushed off the seat of her dress, and flowed down the side of the castle to another open window. The corners of her mouth turned down. Perhaps Morthol was right. She could do more to protect her people, to stop them dying in battle. To prevent battle altogether. But…

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. She had this argument with herself almost every night. Nothing would change so long as the Hylians continued to attack them, and the rogue Myyr continued to raid Hylian villages. She was, after all, only one woman. Short of genocide, there was little she could do other than sit and hope that the battles would peter out. And she would never stoop so low again. Not now. Not ever. Never again.


	11. Zelda

The summer came and went in a haze of heat, peppered all too infrequently with thunderstorms that cleared the muggy air only briefly. Zelda moved from her stifling tower to less opulent rooms on the palace’s third floor. It was disconcerting at first, but Zelda soon learned to appreciate the way a breeze always seemed to find its way into her bedchamber at night, allowing her more rest than she could have hoped to gain in the furnace of her tower.

She sorted through her papers, reading report after report from her council. She had been pleased to learn that squadrons of soldiers had at last been assigned to every holding in the realm, some no more than three, some as large as twenty. It had done little to stop the Myyrish raids, but it had meant that more of her people survived the attacks. They felt safer in their homes.

Yes, she had had to increase the tax. Yes, she had had to become sterner when it came to those who could not pay. It was for the good of the kingdom. Her soldiers needed feeding. Her defences needed strengthening. And her people did not work for free. Safety, she knew, came at a price.

She smiled as she came across a report from General Bothus. Unfurling the scroll, she read about Link, as she had almost every week since requesting such reports on his progress.

She had not seen him since his disastrous first mission. Upon learning of his actions, she had locked herself in her bedroom, denying entry to all, even Impa, as she sobbed into her pillow, convinced that she had been wrong, that she had pinned her hopes on the wrong man, that Hyrule was to fall into destruction once more, never to be saved from the monstrous tyrant at their borders.

But after drying her tears, she had a long talk with Impa. Though the Sheikah was less than impressed at his impulsivity and recklessness, she reasoned that he had at last learned the valuable lesson Zelda had tried to teach him. To lose the only true friend he had in the palace should have at last knocked his head straight. Only time would tell.

And Zelda had accepted this. Though she knew she should punish the soldier for his misdeeds, she could not find it in herself to do so. So, she had requested the weekly reports detailing his progress. And she had not been disappointed.

As Impa had predicted, the mission seemed to have changed Link for the better. He still strove to be the best, throwing himself ever harder into his training, excelling in all ways, but most importantly, he was helping his fellow soldiers to do the same. More often than not, Bothus’ reports included details of how he would sneak into the training grounds after hours with a group of men and drill them on moves they had struggled with. She detected a note of amusement in his writing that, while he did not approve of creeping around without Ser Regis’ permission, he was pleased to see the soldiers improving in their training with Link’s help. As the months passed, she allowed herself to smile.

In time, he was sent out to eliminate another Myyrish camp, with a stern warning that, if he were to disobey orders again, he would be stripped of his rank and imprisoned. Zelda had been delighted to read that he did everything he was asked, and still managed to slaughter four Myyr out of seven.

His missions became more regular, and Bothus reported that with each kill, his devotion to the realm grew, his desire to fight for the kingdom settling like steel across his shoulders. His every moment was dedicated to protecting Hyrule, whether it was through training his fellows, himself, of through the deaths of the Myyr.

The report she held now was the one she had been waiting for. Link had led his first mission to destroy a camp of Myyr that had been terrorising the east. He was in command. His decisions would mean the survival or deaths of both his men, and the Myyr. As Bothus enthusiastically wrote, it had been an astounding success.

She rose, and Impa looked up.

“Have you finished this morning?” she asked, laying aside her book.

“For now,” Zelda said. She raised a hand to her hair and smoothed it, her net glove snagging on the stubborn strands that curled in the last of the summer’s heat. “I will take a walk. I must clear my head.”

“Do you require company?” Impa asked, unnecessarily. She always knew what Zelda wanted.

“No, thank you,” she replied, passing a soft smile to her aide. “I have a decision to make, and I could do without distraction of any kind.”

“I shall ensure the gardens are free of distractions,” Impa said, and rose, leaving her chambers with a swirl of her cloak. Zelda found a pair of flat soled shoes and left as well, taking a leisurely pace through the palace, taking the time to admire the grandeur about her. It was a small miracle that they had been able to rebuild the palace after The Fall. Not just rebuild it, but make it into something bigger, better, something much more impressive. She allowed herself a grin. If nothing else would show the sorceress that they could not be beaten, it was this. Hyrule’s might lay in its royal leaders, and their regality was proudly displayed through their holdings.

Her smile faded somewhat as her thoughts turned dark, as they always did whenever the sorceress crept into them, but she pushed the darkness away. They had a chance now, she thought. Not much of one, but a chance all the same. If Link had truly changed, if he had progressed as much as she believed, as much as the reports suggested, then perhaps he really was the right man to bring them victory. There was no true way of knowing, of course, but… she had an idea.

Her vaults were full of treasures of past eras. They had survived The Fall because of their protections, both physical and magical. If the old legends were to be believed, and if her gut feeling was right…

She reached the gardens and meandered through, taking her time, enjoying the sun on her face. True to her word, Impa had worked her magic, and Zelda met no one along the way. She passed lush trees and full bushes, flowers spilling out of their beds and onto the path. A stream hushed nearby, and the many scattered water features trickled a soft melody, mingling with a hundred songbirds, cheeping softly in the undergrowth. Zelda requested them specifically each year. There was nothing sweeter than a songbird in summer. Such a pity the poor creatures rarely made it through the winter.

Her thoughts returned to Link. He truly had proven himself, she thought. It seemed impossible that a man with such skill had improved more than he was already capable of, but he had. Bothus advised that he was now so strong he could throw back four seasoned soldiers with one sweep of his arm, so swift that he could complete the speed course in less than two minutes, so agile that he could run rings around his fellows. His crowning achievement was not just his successful leading of a mission, but of defeating all forty soldiers in his class as they all attacked him, at once.

She could almost picture it, him standing alone amongst the fallen, sword in hand. Barely breaking a sweat. His eyes deep and cool. She skated over the note that the use of his special ability to such an extent had made him collapse, and it had taken him almost a week to fully recover.

He was the sort of man she needed to help her defeat the sorceress. He was the kind of man she needed to protect the kingdom. And her. She was the princess, after all. The future queen, whenever she decided to take a husband.

The legends told of an honour to be bestowed upon the greatest knight in the realm. She longed to give it to him. But she had to be sure.

She ducked back into the castle and entered the training grounds from the barracks, stepping straight into the experienced soldier’s yard. She saw him instantly. He was a whirlwind of steel, throwing man after man aside, shouting encouragement, still teasing, but with a light-heartedness she had not heard before.

“Watch your step, Frederick,” he laughed as a soldier stumbled over his outstretched foot. “Always mind where you’re placing your feet!” he ducked as another soldier sailed over his head, his movement fluid and unconcerned. “Love the enthusiasm, Jarik, but don’t leave yourself open!” and he booted the soldier’s backside to emphasise his point.

The other soldiers were grinning, seemingly enjoying the exercise. Their faces were flushed, and they were panting, but they were smiling. As she watched, her own smile grew. They too had improved. She felt pride swell inside her. Perhaps their chance would not be so small after all. If they kept this up...

“Watch out!”

Zelda looked up to see a mace spinning through the air towards her, let fly from a careless hand. She squeaked and flattened herself against the wall, no time to run. She closed her eyes and braced herself.

There was a metallic thunk and a grunt of pain. She opened her eyes to find herself nose to nose with Link, standing over her, his arms outstretched. He was just a hair’s breadth away, their faces almost touching. His hair brushed against her forehead, and she caught his scent, a mix of sweat and musk, something that made her think of a forest floor in summer, of fields of wheat and horsehide. She found herself at a loss for words as the split-second seemed to stretch for an eternity.

Her mouth opened as he straightened and turned, a dent obvious in the shoulder of his armour. His arms were still half stretched, shielding her from further assault.

“Who threw that?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the clamour like hot iron through snow. Ser Regis came barrelling towards them.

“Get away from the princess!” he snapped. “Don’t you know your place?”

Link blinked and glanced at Zelda. He bowed his head and retreated a pace.

“My apologies, your Highness,” he said.

“There is no need to apologise,” she said, her breath still struggling in her breast. She looked to Regis. “This soldier just saved me from grave injury. He should not be chastised.”

“Of course, your Highness, of course,” Regis bowed deeply. “May I say what an honour it is to have you here, I can only apologise for the lack of discipline these men possess…”

“Enough,” Zelda said, and Regis shut up. Her eyes found Link again, standing side on from her, gazing across the yard, still seeking the soldier with the loose grip. The intensity of his stare made her skin prickle, though not unpleasantly. She cleared her throat delicately, and his attention snapped back to her at once.

“Walk with me a while, Ser,” she said. “I would speak with you.” Link obediently fell into step beside her as she moved away. They passed through the long corridors of the palace, saying nothing. Zelda acknowledged the bows of those she passed with a minute and regal nod. Link remained silent, his eyes roving over the walls and floor and people.

“I must thank you for saving me,” she said after a time. “I could have been seriously hurt.”

“It’s my duty, your Highness,” he replied. She stole a glance at him. He was not strutting as he had once before, but walking with an easy gait. She noted the set of his shoulders, the stiffness of them. He was not relaxed, but he was not cocky, either. He walked like a knight.

“Were you hurt?” she asked.

“No, your Highness,” he said. “Hylian steel is well made.”

She smiled at that. It was a tactful answer. Goron made armour was the most durable and offered the most protection, though the weight of it was cumbersome and limited movement. Zoran armour was the opposite, though neither race had been seen in Hyrule for centuries. Hylian steel was somewhere in between the two.

Zelda led them through the palace, resisting the urge to continue their conversation. As they went, she sensed Link’s tension. This had been the first time she had seen him since she had berated him, and she felt that his previous failures were heavy on his mind. But it was not his failures that were on hers. She descended a flight of stairs, passing into the bowels of the palace, walking past the doors that would lead them to the cold storage, the wine cellars, and the prisons. Link said nothing as they went, though she sensed him stiffen as they passed the iron barred door that led to the cells.

Eventually, they came to the entrance to the Vaults. A great steel door rose up before them, barred with hard iron, and sealed with magic. Zelda glanced at Link, and raised her hand, summoning her power. She gritted her teeth, and at last her palm glowed, and the seals on the door fell away. She stole another glance, and saw his eyebrows rising.

Withholding a smirk, she led them in, and down a long, winding staircase.

“This leads to the Palace Vaults,” she said. “Here, we house the most precious treasures, the most valuable artefacts, our most sacred history. Tell me, Ser. What do you know of Hyrule’s history?”

“Not much, your Highness,” Link admitted. “I had little cause to learn of it at home, and no time to learn of it here.”

“That is understandable,” Zelda said. “What do you know of the Triforce?”

“It’s a holy relic,” Link said. “The power of the Goddesses made solid.”

“Yes and no,” Zelda said. “When the Goddesses created Hyrule, they left the mortal world. At their departure, the place of their leaving became the entrance to the sacred realm, and the Triforce lay within it. The Triforce represents their essence. Power, Wisdom, and Courage. Legend has it, that a pure soul with a balanced heart can touch the Triforce and make a wish. Whatever that wish is, it will be granted.”

“Sounds useful,” Link remarked, as they continued to descend.

“It is very much so,” Zelda said. “However, if one of an unbalanced heart or impure soul touches it to make a wish, it splits into three. Power, Wisdom and Courage house themselves in those chosen to bear such might.”

She stopped as they came to the bottom of the staircase. Another great door barred their way. Zelda turned to Link, watching him in the low light of the lamps.

“My history books tell me that the triforce was split a thousand years ago,” she said. “An evil man, Ganondorf, the King of Thieves, broke into the sacred realm and attempted to steal the Triforce to wish for great power. It split at his touch. The pieces fled, and housed themselves in three chosen people. Ganondorf received the Triforce of Power, and was able to decimate our kingdom.”

Link’s mouth formed a thin line. Zelda continued.

“The princess of that time received the Triforce of Wisdom,” she said. “A holy relic that has been passed down through my family, mother to daughter, like our powers from Hylia. It shows itself in times of great need.”

Link stared, and his eyes flickered to her hand. “Do you…?”

Zelda shook her head and sighed. “It has not yet revealed itself to me.”

“Now’s a time of need,” Link said, his voice hard. “With the sorceress…”

“Yes, I agree. Please, let me finish, Ser.”

Link ducked his head. “I apologise, your Highness.”

“There is no need to be so formal,” Zelda offered him a smile. “Now. The Triforce of Courage shows itself in a man destined to house the Spirit of the Hero.”

Link gave her a blank look. Zelda chuckled.

“When Hylia first took on her mortal form, it was to battle the Demon King Demise,” she explained. “Zelda, who was the Goddess reincarnated, and her best friend, defeated him. Her friend became the first Hero. His spirit is passed on to the man destined to save the kingdom, who also holds the Triforce of Courage.”

Link nodded. “Okay. So, the Triforce never went back together?”

“No, not to my knowledge.” Zelda sighed. “As I say, I agree with you, Ser. Now is a time of great need. The sorceress has been plaguing our kingdom for four hundred years. But, as I understand it, the Triforce has not shown itself, and the Spirit of the Hero has not come back.”

She gave Link a soft smile, and unsealed the door with her magic. She led him inside the Vaults, the lamps flickering into life.

The chamber was vast. The ceiling was high, the walls tall and wide, lined with glass-fronted cases of scrolls and parchment. Along the stone floor, pedestals stood at hip height, each holding a purple cushion, enclosed in a magical glass case. On each cushion was an old and valuable artefact.

Zelda watched as Link stared, his eyes widening.

“My research tells me all of these artefacts were once used to save Hyrule,” she said, as Link bent to look at a red and blue glove. “All throughout history. A history spanning thousands of years.” She watched him closely, praying her suspicions were correct. “Does that speak to you?” she asked.

Link shook his head.

Zelda held back a sigh, and began a slow walk, Link keeping pace beside her, staring at the cases.

“What do you know of the sorceress?” she asked.

“She’s evil,” Link said, instantly. “She has brought fire and destruction down on Hyrule for centuries.” His eyes hardened. “She killed my father. Her Myyr murdered my mother and sister.”

Zelda glanced at him. The latter revelation was new to her, but she did not know how to address it. They came at last to a case at the back of the Vaults. Inside was a dented shield bearing the Hylian crest, two halves of a broken bow, and a pair of gloves with chains and hooks attached to them.

“These weapons belonged to the last Hero of Hyrule,” Zelda said, reverently. “The Hero of Twilight, who bore the Triforce of Courage and housed the Spirit of the Hero. He lived centuries ago. Four centuries ago, to be exact.”

Link stared, stepping close to the glass. He shot a look to Zelda. “He was alive when the sorceress came to Hyrule?”

“So history says,” Zelda replied. “By all accounts, he was an incredible man. He saved Hyrule from the Twilight Crisis, and served the Princess Zelda with devotion. Then, the sorceress appeared, though none knew what she was. But she could not hide forever, and her wickedness was revealed. Despite the valiant efforts of the princess and her Hero, he was slain by the sorceress.”

“And that’s when it started,” Link said, half to himself. He was still staring into the case.

“It was,” Zelda said. She stepped a little closer. “The princess loved her Hero, and he loved her in return. The sorceress saw and was wild with envy. When the Hero denied her, she slew him, and began a reign of terror across the land.”

She laid a hand on the glass case, hoping for some spark, something that registered within her. She did not know what it was she yearned for, but it felt as though a piece of herself was missing. The Vaults made her feel better, almost as if the ancient pieces were speaking to her in a tongue long forgotten, like a half-remembered dream. Most of the scrolls in her magically sealed cases were written in a language she could not understand, though something, like the artefacts, spoke to her, as if she should be able to decipher the faded texts.

“For a hundred years, the Black Witch waged war on Hyrule,” she said, her voice low. “She burned and destroyed everything in her path. Young or old, rich or poor, none escaped her wrath, save a lucky few, or those on our borders.” She shivered. “It is a miracle that we were able to rebuild. Decades, no, centuries of research and technology was lost. She almost wiped us all out. It was genocide.”

“All that because she fancied the Hero?” Link asked, astonished. Zelda nodded.

“Love and obsession are very different things. They are easily confused.”

Link straightened at last and turned to look at her. Zelda was once again struck by just how blue his eyes were, how intensely they stared. She searched them, looking for something that she did not know. But his eyes were the simple blue of an ocean’s surface, and the depths within them seemed nothing more than wishful thinking.

“We do not know why, but she retreated after a century of blood and fire. For another seventy years, she was not seen. Only stories were told of her, whispered around campfires, and found in scribbled accounts on scorched pages as we began to rebuild. And then the Myyr came to Hyrule. We fought against them, their neverending tide. And just when it seemed as though we would be victorious, the sorceress returned, and began to house them. Protect them. And for the last two hundred years, we have fought against the Myyr, led by the sorceress, while she hides away and curses our crops and sends pestilences to my people. We have never been able to even get close to her, to destroy her, to end our suffering.”

Link’s eyes had darkened as she spoke. But he remained silent. Zelda hesitated, and her next words left her in a rush.

“I believe, from what I have learned of you, that you would be a great asset in defeating her, Ser,” Zelda said.

Link took a breath. “May I ask a question, Highness?”

Zelda blinked. She had expected gratitude for such an opportunity. “Of course.”

“Why do you address me as ‘Ser?’ I am not yet a knight.”

Zelda almost laughed, but she forced it down.

“Would you do anything to defeat the Shadow Sorceress? The Black Witch of the Dark Castle?”

Link met her eyes, then bent his knee and bowed his head.

“I vow I will do everything in my power to stop her,” he said. “Whatever it takes. I will see Hyrule safe from her evils if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Zelda smiled, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you will,” she said. “Which is why I have decided that you will be my Chosen Knight.”

Link looked up, his eyes wide. His mouth fell open.

“You are my best warrior,” Zelda said. “Your skill surpasses all other soldiers. Your talent with the blade makes me think of the Heroes of Legend.” Her hand was still on his shoulder. “And you have proven yourself as a leader, a truly intelligent and powerful man. I would choose you, Ser, to be our main weapon against this sorceress. For I believe, if anyone is going to have even the slightest chance of ending her reign of terror, it would be you. Ser Link.”

He rose, determination and fire in his eyes.

“It would be my honour,” he said, and grinned, wolfishly.


End file.
